


Silenced Freedom of Speech

by BopItsNeo



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Branding, Burns, Cuts, Fire, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hanahaki Disease, Hospitals, I don't know what this will turn into, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Spoilers, Pining, Profanity, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Sad, Scars, Smut, Violence, Workaholic, Workaholism, a bunch of bad shit, a lot later, based on multiple roleplays, because alex is fucking dumb, but that's introduced later, dont let anybody know though, enemys with benefits, glass, hella jamilton, hospital visits, i hope you enjoy i guess, its introduced in chapter 16, no sleep, nvrmnd, oh wait--, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-17 02:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 43,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14178789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BopItsNeo/pseuds/BopItsNeo
Summary: Alexander really shouldn't let himself be treated like this. Shouldn't let it fly by as if it happens to everybody, shouldn't stay because he thinks it'll get better.And, for once, the only person he could blame is himself.[]A story in which Alexander denies himself of everything needed and deserves, Laurens is an asshole, and Jefferson is confusing.[]





	1. Mistakes Lead to Issues

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what this will be, how it will start or end, what it'll be like. All I know is Jamilton will happen and tears will happen. Read if you want lol

Exposition. Technically, Alexander's first issue, that launched everything else, happened because of Alexander himself, and he knew it perfectly well. Though, he also knew that he wasn't about to blame the fall of his life on himself, willing to find anybody and everybody who can fill in that slot, instead. He was always one to point fingers, and shoot the blame towards somebody else, instead of taking it himself. He knew that this was his fault. He knew he started this exact situation, and more to come because of said situation, but he wasn't going to say that he did it. He had better common sense than that. So, he instead blamed it on Jefferson. Who, Alexander /could/ technically say started everything, because he really did. Even then, the issue was still his own.

It mainly started with Alexander's need for work. His yearning for ink on paper, to have the power and control over what letters and words they formed, how long he wanted his writings to be, how short. He got to decide what the words and letters looked like, he got to choose what information was laced inside the shapes of ink, he had control over it all. It was one of his favourite things about writing. Writing is part of his job. And, no matter how much he wrote, and how much it annoyed his peers, them being the ones having to read all of his shit, nobody could tell him to do otherwise. Like what had just been stated, it was his job. What else was he to do?

Another reason to love work is the distraction. Alexander would be too busy perfecting everything he had done, focusing on the dull pain in his hand from doing nothing but writing from hours on end, on the bitter taste of coffee left on his tongue in hope for an energy boost, to bother focusing on his life problems. Why should he do anything else, why should he be anyone else, if he could work? It was a waste of time to do anything else. Besides, Alexander liked staying in his office, far more than going to his shared home. Far more than going to the one he shared his room with.

Which, led to worry. Alexander's office door, while always closed and locked, always had a golden glow from the bottom and sides of the door, showing a promise of a turned on light from inside the room in which outsiders couldn't see, showed a promise of somebody being in said room. Day in, day out. Twenty four hours a day, would the light be on. At least, that's what it seemed. Whenever one was to pass by, there would never be a lack of glow.

Of course, Jefferson wasn't the first person to notice this. Perhaps Alexander's friends had noticed first. Lafayette, Mulligan, Burr. Though, if they did, and if they had said anything, then it wasn't obvious, seeing as though there was no change. If Alexander's friends had spoken to him about it, then wouldn't he have changed the issue?

No, Jefferson didn't care. Which, was one of the thoughts he allowed to roam through his head while knocking on Hamilton's door, not wanting to place the other feelings in his gut that stabbed at his skin. And, when he heard a brief, "Come in," the words seeming distracted, concentrated and curious at the same time, Jefferson allowed himself inside Hamilton's office, forgetting about the other emotions easily.

Instead, he focused on the view. First of all, the room itself. It was somehow dark, almost entirely black, the only light being the soft, golden glow by a lamp on Hamilton's desk, illuminating the younger male's face. It was strange, really. The light somehow carried out to the door, ringing it from the outside, yet barely reached the walls when one was inside the room. There were three coffee cups, two of them empty and one half full, and Hamilton's rubbish bin, full of crushed bottles, of which Jefferson could only place as energy drinks. Then, it was Hamilton himself who caught Jefferson's eye, the immigrant's gaze still looking down to his current paper despite Thomas making his way inside. He had deep rings under his eyes, a bit puffy at that, a deep purple promising a lack of sleep. His complexion was pale, perhaps hinting towards malnutrition or something of the kind. Yet, contradicting everything else, were Hamilton's eyes, determined and searching as they always were. They had a fire, some sort of unwritten challenge displaying over the brown hue. And, when Hamilton finally looked up to catch Jefferson's gaze, a raised eyebrow accenting said eyes, Thomas could already feel something new bubbling in his stomach. It had to be an irritation. Hamilton looked like he was studying garbage, it disgusted Jefferson.  
That's what it was. Irritation.

"What?"  
Alexander's voice was blunt as ever, lacking the formality he knew he was supposed to have. He knew he should have addressed Jefferson as sir, knew that he should have used more of a formal way of asking Thomas's show, knew that he didn't have to be so rude from the start. Though, when did Alexander ever follow directions? He was already growing impatient.

"You look like shit, as always."  
Thomas drawled his words, a disgusted expression written over his sharp features, as he took his time scanning Hamilton up and down. He wrinkled his nose, before finally allowing his wandering eyes to once again land on Hamiltons', which were ever so narrowed on their own, the previously invisible fire growing far larger. Jefferson never bothered with greetings, alike how Hamilton never bothered with formalities. They were going to argue either way, so it didn't really matter. After not even a second, Thomas continued, raising an eyebrow.  
"Seriously, Hamilton. I know y'ain't barely a human, but you look like you sleep under your fuckin' desk. Really puttin' a new meaning to gremlin, aren't you?"

Jefferson's accent never failed to set Alexander off, especially with the way it grew more prominent whenever he was insulting or arguing with anybody. It was irreplaceable, and god was it annoying. Alexander knew Jefferson was a southern fuck, he didn't need him shoving it down his throat.  
Alexander was hot-headed, sure. He knew that. He was hot-headed, he was rash, he was irresponsible. But he never got as frustrated as he just did, with such little trigger from Jefferson, before. Alexander stood up from his seat, glare burning into Jefferson's dark-cinnamon eyes, jaw clenched with how many words Alexander was holding back. If it wasn't for his settling exhaustion, he would have spoken them, too.  
"Have you a reason to be in my office, or not? If you don't, then kindly, get the fuck out and mind your own business."

The bite in Hamilton's tone surprised Thomas, though it really shouldn't have. Thomas knew that he frustrated the other, the news wasn't new to him. He knew every movement, every word, every action to set the other off. And, frankly? He loved it. He wanted Alexander to be irritated, frustrated, annoyed, in the same exact ways he annoyed everybody else.  
Thomas tsked, leaning in the doorframe of the immigrants' office, crossing his arms.  
"My my, quite the fit you've worked yourself into. Tell me, do you really think you're intimidating? 'Cause you ain't, that's for sure. Not with your height."

Alexander's hands, which were pressed into the polished wood of the desk below him, gathered into fists, his nails digging into the soft padding of the inside of his hand. Alright, Alexander, calm the fuck down. It's just innocent playground insults from a fucker trying to irritate you.  
Still, despite him telling himself that, he couldn't help himself standing taller, taking a step to the side, before stepping forward, now standing in front of his desk. He matched Thomas's posture, crossing his arms. There was so much he could do to stop the current mini fight, so much he could say. Though, of course, none of those things ended up happening.  
"Says the tall ass. Thank god you're tall, really, because nobody of a normal height would want to see your ugly ass face. We're lucky you're so far away from us."

Thomas clenched his jaw, finally feeling actual irritation settle low in his stomach, a glare settling its way in his eyes. If this was irritation, then what was it before?  
Thomas spat out his next words, his quick burning frustration more evident in his expression than in his words, as it's always been with the Virginian. That was the main difference between the two. Hamilton was all talk. Jefferson was all action.  
"Oh, is the gremlin getting upset because he can't have what he wanted? What a fucking shame."

Alexander glare sharpened when he saw Jefferson's own look peering back at him, taking it as a challenge like anything and everything else in his life.  
"I get what the fuck I want when the fuck I want it."  
Matched with his words, was Alexander's movement that he surely didn't think of on his own, his body moving before his mind could catch up. This movement was his sudden strides towards Jefferson, whom only reacted with a smirk, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, really? What are you going to do, push me out of your office?"  
And, oh, he couldn't be more wrong.

As soon as Alexander was within distance, frustration written clear on his face as the only thing in his mind, he balled Jefferson's shirt up in his fists, pulling the Virginian down before connecting their lips roughly, not caring about being slow, about being careful.

It was all passion, all frustration, pent-up anger, and lust, that Alexander poured into the kiss. It was rough, it was a challenge on its own. It was demanding, eager. And, while Alexander expected to be met with a sudden absence of contact, he received the opposite.

As soon as their lips had connected, Jefferson's eyes widened before he shut them, taking a step to the side so they weren't in the doorway anymore. He then shut the door, practically slamming Alexander against it which received its own small yelp, before Thomas found his lips on the other again, his mouth eager, demanding and hot on its own. He locked the door with his free hand, his other snaking around Hamilton and collecting itself in the brunette's hair, pulling hard enough to leave his scalp burning and earning a moan from the smaller male.  
Then, he found his mouth connected to Hamilton's neck, searing lips laying out a trail of bites and kisses up his neck, over Alexander's jawline, before the immigrant's shirt was hastily thrown off and to the side. Every small bit of contact had Alexander whining, begging for more, hips jutting out on their own.

And, yet, Alexander was the one who pushed Thomas off of him, earning a huff in return. Alexander was the one who moved over to his desk, breath heavily as he wrote down his phone number on a sheet of paper, pushing it into Thomas's chest without care.  
And, like that, without an exchange of words, Jefferson was out of his office, and out of site. It didn't take even a minute before Alexander got a text, though, from an unknown number. He changed the name.

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"When?"

It was one question, that sent a shiver down Alexander's spine. He really shouldn't be doing this, knowing fully fucking well it was going to land himself in a trap, but he responded anyway, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his bag.

> "Tomorrow, after work, your place."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"See you then."


	2. "Unadulterated" Loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex, regrets, and thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SmUt WaRnInG  
> Thomas also calls Alexander a slut so uhhh yeah TW i guess  
> I hope you enjoy!!  
> (it's 1:20 AM for me sorry mum)  
> also sorry it's shorter than the first chapter, that sucks

Alexander regretted everything.

Well, that can't exactly be said, yet. Nothing happened. Well, other than Jefferson blowing up his fucking phone throughout the day.

Hamilton never had to silence his phone, or, hell, even shut it off on a normal day. It's always been the same, constant pattern. With his work, with his phone, with his day after work. It's all the same rhythm and pattern, one that Alexander never had to bother memorizing. Perhaps the one thing he needed be wary of was whom he lived with, but even then, Alexander worked his time around the other as is, doing the best he can to constantly stay out of their shared house. Working around the male was a constant pattern.

However, with an exchange of numbers and a promise of something later on in the night, it was hard for a brand new change in Alexander's day to go by amiss. Just like it was difficult for him to suddenly have an unstoppable stream of texts from a certain Virginian.

If Alexander were to be honest, with both himself and possibly Jefferson if asked, he wasn't sure why he had responded in such a way to the previous.. encounter. Insults and arguments aren't something the pair are foreign to. In fact, it wouldn't be a normal day without the two bickering like some sort of married couple, one that despised each other but didn't want to waste money on a divorce. Alexander didn't know why he kissed Jefferson, didn't know why he let it escalate, didn't know why he had given the other his phone number and didn't know why he was actually planning on meeting him. Though, in all honesty, so far? Alexander only regretted one thing, and that was the number swap. God, he swears, the next message he's sent, he'll actually kill the fucking Virginian.

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"You're such a slut."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"You know that, yeah?"

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"You need a fuck so badly, that you resort to your political enemy."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"Maybe I should leave you on my doorstep."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"Oohh, or I could drag it out."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"Make you wait until the next day, meet me in my office."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"Actually? Nevermind. I don't want your ugly ass soiling the beauty that is my office."

> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"See you tonight."

One more message, and Alexander would be in jail for murder.  
Here's the problem. Alexander could easily just mute Thomas. He could shut off his phone, he could put it on airplane mode, he could shove it in his bag and never look at it again for that day. But he didn't, and he knew that he wouldn't. That's the problem. No matter how many messages Jefferson sent him, Alexander would look to his phone as soon as he heard it ding, would read the message and drink it in.

It distracted him, that's for sure. Try getting literally anything done when there's an asshole, two doors down from you, blowing up your phone every chance he gets. Alexander prided himself on his flawless work ethic, but he couldn't seem to do that, now.

He ended up skipping lunch break, one in which he would usually use as an excuse to drown himself in coffee, simply because he wanted to avoid the Virginian at all costs. When he found himself at a block for work, he decided to truly think of whatever's going to happen at Jefferson's house.

Hamilton was no idiot, his intelligence was key to who he was in general. He knew it wasn't going to be some dinner and wine, a discussion of how work was for the both of them. He knew it wasn't going to be cuddles on the bed while watching movies together, nor whispering sweet nothings and compliments in each other's ears.

Though, Alexander didn't know if he wanted that, anyway.

When actually bothering to think about it, Alexander now knew why he traded info. It was a relief. It was a stress relief, a body against his, nothing but breaths and touches exchanged. A distraction. Jefferson was Alexander's distraction. Though, from what? From his current relationship, of which could be better? Of work, which he had no issues with?

Jefferson was Alexander's distraction from Jefferson, that's what.

Alexander would rarely get so irritated or so frustrated from anybody else other than the Virginian. So, if he had nothing from anybody else to bottle up, then why would he be meeting Thomas for hatesex? It's all Jefferson's fault.

And, that's what repeated in Alexander's head, over and over, as he made his way to Jefferson's house. It was barely far from the office building, so he simply decided to walk. Which, he soon learned to regret, feeling the chill of the wind bite through his exposed arms, leaving them frozen to the touch. God damn it, it was supposed to be spring. Not fucking winter. Though, Alexander's complaints about the weather washed away when he found himself at Thomas's doorstep, fist heavy against the dense wood of the other's door. The action brought a heat to his knuckles, which was a nice contrast to the cold wind.

It barely took a minute of Alexander standing there for him to find Jefferson opening the door, a smirk laced on his lips as if he knew something that Alexander didn't. Which, surely, was impossible. Alexander made the initiative. Alexander was the one in control of the situation, not Jefferson.

Thomas stepped to the side after having his eyes look Alexander up and down, him not even bothering to hide the fact that he was checking the immigrant out. As soon as Thomas moved, Alexander stepped inside, and that was how it all started.

As soon as Alexander could bask in the comfortable warmth of the other's house, the heat falling heavy on his skin where the biting cold originally did, he was already being shoved against the now closed door, eager lips on his own. Alexander's eyes widened for the moment, undoubtedly matching the expression Jefferson had on their first kiss, before Alexander shut them, arms snaking around the Virginian's neck.

Jefferson had pressed his hips against Alexander's, pinning him to the wall as to free his hands. One made its way into Hamilton's hair, easily finding comfort in his now tight grip in the other's locks, his free hand sliding down to Alexander's hip, before moving up his shirt, taking place at his side. Thomas basked in every sound he was able to pull out of Alexander, and Hamilton could see it - every whine, low moan, or whimper gave, was another grin, another tug, another bite. Alexander could tell that his volume was fueling the fire, and he didn't care enough to stop it.

After a removal of Alexander's shirt, and Thomas's belt being thrown off and discarded elsewhere, Thomas pulled away, breath heavy and eyes dark with undoubted lust. His gaze ran over Alexander, like a predator eyeing it's pray, before he finally spoke, looking back up to catch Alexander's eyes. His eyebrow was raised, almost amusement riding over his face.  
"I hate you."

Despite the outlandish nature, the words barely matching up with the situation at hand, Alexander completely expected those three words to fall from Jefferson's lips, like some sort of broken psalm. Alexander smirked, rolling his eyes and catching his breath before replying, not even bothering to look at Jefferson. Not giving him the time of day. This was a challenge.  
"And I loathe you."

With that, Thomas leaned forward, nipping at the nape of Alexander's neck and managing to pull a small moan from the immigrant. He gave the other's hair one last pull, before detangling his hand from the dark brown locks, both of his hands travelling down to the bottom of Alexander's upper thighs, Jefferson picking him up with ease. Even with him, walking upstairs while holding another male, he didn't have any difficulty leaving multiple marks on Alexander's skin, mainly on his neck. High enough to not be able to be covered with a shirt, low enough to not be able to be covered with his hair.  
Fucker.  
As soon as Jefferson found his way to his bed, he shoved Alexander down on it, crawling on top of the other as if it were second nature. He left a bite on Alexander's shoulder, enough to sting, before leaning back up, him making quick work on unbuttoning his shirt. As Thomas was doing that, Alexander worked on getting his jeans down, not even bothering to unbutton them before he threw them to the side, Thomas's body once again pressed against Alexanders.

It was all how Alexander expected it to be. It was quick paced, rough, plenty of pain and insults to go around - just what Alexander had needed. Exactly what Alexander had needed. Jefferson was what Alexander had needed.

When it was over - which didn't happen soon, they took the entire night - Jefferson wasted no time grabbing Alexander's clothes from the floor, tossing them to the immigrant without a second glare, barely even a glance. Alexander swallowed, turning his shirt back right side out and slipping it over his head, he couldn't help but roll his eyes at Jefferson's words.

"I'm taking a shower. When I come out, I expect you to be gone."

Typical. Alexander huffed, flipping Thomas off when the other turned around, grinning when he saw an oh so familiar dark bruise on his neck. Knowing Jefferson, he would end up wearing it with pride, though despising who he had gotten it from. Exactly what Alexander wanted.

When Thomas shut the door and turned the shower on, Alexander let a sigh escape his lips, laying on the bed for a moment. This was going to be a thing, Alexander could already tell. Not them, but /this/. Late night messages and calls. Mentions, and better use for breaks in the middle of the day. Absence from meetings.

Or, would it be a thing? Alexander could cut it off. It's not like they actually liked each other, it wasn't something that couldn't be dropped like a dime. If it could happen within a second, it could be dropped within a second. Though, that faces another major problem - one that was worse than the original - Alexander already knew he wouldn't want it to stop.

After his few minute contemplations, Alexander heaved a sigh and got up, sliding the rest of his clothes on before grabbing his keys and leaving Jefferson's house, wishing he had stolen something from him out of spite. A t-shirt, maybe. Or a shoe. God, that would kill him.

Making his way back into his house, swearing under his breath when he heard the T.V on, Alexander already knew that his night was going to be longer than what had happened at Jefferson's.

It brought a thought to his mind, as Alexander attempted to slink away to his room in silence, hoping to not get noticed. Was Alexander cheating? Technically, he was. He was still in a relationship. But, did this count as a relationship? Something told him no, something told him yes. However, a heavy sound of glass shattering on a nearby wall, making Alexander practically jump out of his skin, ripped him from his thoughts, placing him in new ones.

No, this wasn't a relationship. Because this isn't what relationships are like. However, it stopped mattering, with the fact that Alexander was now caught, Laurens leaning against the doorframe, a bottle in his hand, a glare in his eyes, slurred words escaping his lips.

"Where were you?"

Shit.


	3. Rope Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander has a sudden fear of everything around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - uhh abuse, blood, later forming bruises, rope, and rape  
> yikes
> 
> I don't know what this chapter will turn to so i swear its not my fault  
> Greta don't hurt me i love you

"Where were you?"

The question rang through Alexander's ears the second time it was asked, him not quite being able to block it from his ears. He stood still where he was, quite frankly afraid to move. It was clear that Laurens had been drinking, the fact that he was holding an empty beer bottle is enough proof for Alexander to make the assumption. Well, that, and the unplaceable slur of his words, as if he had a mouth full of water while speaking, his tone of voice punctuation the word /were/. 

Alexander took a quick glance around. There was broken glass on the floor a few feet of where Alexander stood, leading to Alexander to think that Laurens threw the bottle. Well, it wasn't an assumption. Alexander heard it and saw it. He knew that it happened. Still, Alexander wanted to make excuses for the other male.

Alexander's thoughts on all of this were.. Conflicting. He only seemed to know it was wrong when it was happening. Through, when it wasn't, it was love. Because it was. John does this because he loves Alexander. He wants Alexander to be safe, and he wants Alexander to be happy. If he didn't, he wouldn't be doing this. Alexander, really, was lucky to have Laurens in his life, even if he didn't currently think so.

"Answer me!"

Laurens's words cut through the air with precision, like a knife being stabbed in a stake. If words could have a look intangled in their meanings, then those two words would be a glare, shot and piercing Alexander's own widened eyes. Alexander swallowed down a lump in his throat, a stutter, before responding, holding his hands behind his back.

"I was at work."

It wasn't technically a lie. Alexander /was/ at work. He made a stop, but he knew fully well that saying that would get him in more trouble than he was already in. Of course, saying that he was at work wasn't allowed either, but it was better than saying he was at somebody else's house, being unfaithful.

Laurens's glare sharped on Alexander's face, practically burning it. Alexander could feel the heat from the expression on his skin, sure that it was going to kill him one day. Laurens stepped closer to Alexander, and Alexander dropped his gaze to the bottle in John's hand, his knuckles white from holding onto it with such a grip. He took another step forward, and Alexander lifted his gaze to the other's face.

"You're lying to me."

His tone was soft, now. Understanding. It was like a flip of a light switch, how he could change like that. He would go from hard, cold, harp, to soft and loving. Alexander preferred this side to him, though knowing in the back of his head that it would never last. It was barely real, on its own. John lifted his free hand to line his thumb over Alexander's jawline, which had Hamilton leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering half closed. It was some sort of comfort. It was the smallest amount he could get from him, he knew this. But, it was something.

"Tell me the truth."

Laurens's words were once again soft, and gentle, easing Alexander into telling the truth. They promised a comfort, a safe space where Alexander didn't need to worry about anything or anyone. They promised that John wouldn't freak out if he heard the truth. Which, Alexander knew he would, but he pushed that thought away. Laurens's thumb now lined over Alexander's bottom lip, earning a small smile from the other.

"I was at a friend's house."

Really, that was more of a lie than the first one. Jefferson was nowhere near his friend. Though, he /was/ at somebodies house, so it counted, right? Sure. Alexander opened his eyes fully to gauge Laurens's own expression, one that had fallen into a sharp glare, the same one he was wearing at the start.

"You're cheating on me."

Alexander's eyes widened with Laurens's words, him quickly holding his hands out in front of him as if some sort of surrender. It wasn't uncommon for Alexander to be accused of being unfaithful, and it wasn't uncommon for him to be punished for it. It didn't matter if he was or wasn't. If Laurens thought he was, then he was. Alexander shook his head, stuttering out some sort of reply.  
"N-No, I swear I'm not, I wouldn't-"  
"Shut up!"

Laurens's yell, cutting Alexander off was made only the more prominent when Alexander felt the smash on the glass bottle Laurens was holding against his head, shattering with the hit.  
Alexander was lucky that he was empty, knowing fully well that it would have hurt far more if it was full. Still, that didn't stop the tears brimming his eyes, feeling glass shards now stuck in his skin. Laurens snarled, tsking and shaking his head. He dropped the rest of the bottle, Alexander jumping when he heard it smash, before stepping away, pacing the floor in front of Alexander.

"You know I'm nothing without you. You're all I need. You're hurting me."

It's nothing Alexander hasn't heard before. However, this time, Laurens's voice sounds far more.. Broken. Sad. As if he means his words. A pang of guilt beat against Alexander's ribcage for a moment, setting off his heartbeat to be quicker.

"I'll kill myself."  
Laurens turned to Alexander, and Alex expected his glare to of softened. It really only hardened, sharpening. The words hit with a surprising amount of impact, practically shoving Alexander against the wall that he already stands against, without even touching him. Alexander's eyes widened more than they had before, him swallowing a lump that he found stuck in his stomach. Laurens stepped closer to Alexander, pressing his hands into the wall on either side of Hamilton. Meanwhile, hurried words escaped the other's lips.

"D-Don't-! D-Don't do that, please, I love you, I d-don't know what I would do without you, please, John, you're all I have."

With Alexander's words came a satisfied hum from Laurens, him leaning forward and pressing an unloving, unforgiving kiss to Alexander's lips. The contact sent a shiver up his spine, pressing a pressure against the back of his throat and forcing tears to come to his eyes, begging to be released.

Laurens lifted his hand, wiping his thumb against Alexander's jawline there a small, unsteady stream of blood had rolled down from his head, the glass from the bottle cutting him. When he collected the blood on his thumb, he pushed the didget into Alexander's mouth, forcing Alexander to lick it off before retreating his hand in disgust, wiping the other's saliva off of Alexander's shirt.

"You're nothing without me. You'd do anything for me. You belong to me, and nobody else."

Laurens lifted an eyebrow as if in a silent proposition of what he said, nodding at Alexander. The words came hesitantly from his mouth, quiet. He knew he was supposed to repeat after the freckled man in front of him, but he was slow on doing so. The hesitance delivered two hands around Alexander's neck like a shot, Laurens's grip slowly tightening the longer Alexander took to repeat. Finally, Alexander choked out the words.

"I-I'm nothing without you. I'd do anything for you. I b-belong to you, and nobody else."

Laurens let go of Alexander's neck, replacing his hands with his mouth and planting hot, feverish kisses on the soft expanse of Alexander's skin. Hamilton hated it. He hated every kiss, every bite, every touch. But he knew better than to fight, or speak, against it. It wasn't often that it would escalate beyond the kisses and marks that it started out as. 

Though, as soon as Alexander had thought that, clenching his jaw as to not cry, Laurens grabbed his wrists in one hand, dragging him to the bedroom. No.  
No.

Alexander attempted to rip his hands from Laurens, only for his grip to tighten, causing Alexander to yelp. It burnt, the contact. It was unwanted, unneeded. Then again, so was the situation. Alexander let a panicked cry of a pea escape his lips, attempting to drag his feet back against the floor as to stop, instead of being pulled towards the room.

"N-No, John, please, don't do-"

Alexander shut himself up when a sob rose from his throat, convenient timing of Laurens throwing him into the room matching with it. Laurens shoved Alexander to the bed, pinning him down with one hand while the other reached under the bed to grab stiff, scratchy rope, tying Alexander's wrists together.  
At this point, Alexander hadn't bothered to stop himself from crying, though attempting to swallow the tears down to the best of his ability.

By the time Alexander had lost all of his clothes, and Laurens had only lost his undergarments, Alexander was still, numb, and silent. He imagined a better place, better people. He imagined a better life, one without worry of punishment, one without having to walk on eggshells.

Still, though, Alexander deserved this. Alexander deserves to be hit, he deserves to be punished, he deserves to be treated like this. How else would he learn? It was his fault for being so selfish, for misbehaving. Laurens loved him. He wanted to help Alexander get better. He wanted to teach him. That's why this was happening. So Alexander could be taught to be perfect.

\--------------

When Laurens was finished, he kept Alexander tied to the bedpost, cold and exposed, getting dressed on his own. It was a stumble for the man, him being blinded by a haze of alcohol, probably. Alexander wasn't sure how much he had drank, though he knew it was more than two. When John finished getting dressed, he walked over to Alexander, planting a hot kiss on his forehead that Alexander attempted to lean away from, only earning a slap and another kiss.  
Alexander couldn't cry anymore. He was out of the energy.

"I'm going to the bar. Stay here."

His words were hissed, a promise of later punishment on their own, as if Alexander had any sort of way to get out of the ropes binding him and keeping him in his place. He shifted his wrists in the hold, wincing when the rope dug into his wrists, clearly tied too tight. It made his skin raw, but nothing that wouldn't heal.

When Laurens left, Alexander glanced around the room for something that may help him escape from this hell hole, spotting his phone in his pants thrown to the other side of the bed.

Bingo.

Alexander shifted his lower body, grabbing his phone with his feet and throwing it up on his chest with a small 'ouf'. Alexander pulled it up with his chin, using the same part to press the home button.

"Siri-"  
Alexander activated the assistant, satisfied when it opened up to the dark skreen, the bars on the bottom moving and promising that Alexander's voice would make it through.  
"Call Jefferson."


	4. Help Comes Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jefferson confronts Hamilton, and Alex stays silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I keep posting twice a day. Probably because I know that I'll end up not posting when school comes back in, probably because I have nothing else to do. Whoops.  
> No trigger warnings this time!! (yaay) - other than touches, mentions of sex, panicing and nudity. Sorry mum.  
> Did I yet mention that this is based on multiple roleplays I've had? no okay  
> its like a mash of all roleplays  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!  
> []This is for you, keyboardlamnnfisnf)

It took a while for Alexander to gather a response from Jefferson, having to call him more than five times just to hear the phone ring more than once. He knew that Jefferson was manually ignoring the calls, Alexander wasn't clueless. Nor was he dumb. The most likely scenario was for Thomas to think that Alexander wants another fuck, even though it's only been, what, two hours? Three? After their meet. In all honesty, Alexander wasn't sure. He didn't keep his eye on the clock the entire time. He stopped caring for that moment.

Either Jefferson thought that Alexander wanted to fuck, or he thought that Alexander caught feelings. Which, neither of those things happened, of course. Not that Alexander knew of. Though, it was impossible for Thomas to already know what Alexander needed, to be able to read into nothing but a ringing cell phone and know all about Alexander, his past, and his present. It was simply impossible. Unless Thomas had known somebody in a similar situation, which Alexander doubted.

When Alexander finally heard Jefferson pick up, he breathed a sigh of relief, shifting so that he could get the phone under his elbow. He then managed to push it to his neck and over to his shoulder, him leaning his head to the side to press his ear against the thing, grinning when he heard Jefferson's already irritated voice.

He never thought that somebodies voice could bring him so much happiness, in all honesty. So much relief.

\----------------------------

Thomas wasn't far too keen on being woken up in the goddamn morning by a ringing phone, one he forgot to silence before falling asleep. His mind was too busy wandering to other things to even think about doing so, his body and mind covered in a heavy and weighing exhaustion that only ever seemed to come to him after sex. Which, he had to admit, was the best he's had in a while, but he wasn't one to openly admit.

When Thomas turned over to grab his phone blindly, opening his eyes and squinting at the bright screen to see who it was, he rolled his eyes, hanging up on him. Hamilton shouldn't be fucking calling him at - what time was it? - three in the fucking morning. He was probably going to blow Jefferson's ear off with saying how he didn't want to continue, listing more than a million reasons why, before Thomas would end up hanging up on him. It was a realistic thought, but he doubted that was the case. Why would it be, when Hamilton could just text him like a normal person?

He was drifting off to sleep once again when he got the second call, furrowed eyebrows marking a confused expression on his face. He would call himself concerned, but he wouldn't allow himself to feel anything other than lust and loathing towards the immigrant. He didn't feel anything other than those two, either. Of that, he was sure. He hung up again, but didn't bother going back to sleep. He sat, and waited. And, like he had expected, he got another call.

He had to of hung up around four or five times before finally giving in, taking the call. It was like a game that he and Alexander had begun playing. Every call brought a small smirk on his face, slowly but surely growing it until it became an actual grin. Though, when he finally decided to pick up, he wiped the look off his face, allowing his tone to reader irritated and tired.

"What the fuck do you want, Hamilton? I'm trying to get some sleep."

The relieved sigh Thomas heard on the other side of the phone caused a small frown to play on his lips, an eyebrow raised even though Thomas knew that nobody could see him. He pushed away a pit at his stomach that grew with Hamilton's next three words, standing up and throwing a shirt on.  
"I need help."

\----------------------------

Alexander wasn't fond of how much time it took the Virginian to arrive at his place. He also wasn't fond of the fact that Laurens probably gave no shits on cleaning the house up before leaving, Jefferson now being able to see the entire mess of broken glass and bottles littering the floor. And, when Alexander heard a faint "What the fuck.." after the door had opened and closed, he knew that his suspicion of Laurens not caring had been correct.   
When was it not?

Alexander heaved a sigh when he once again heard Thomas's voice ringing through the halls and up the stairs, Alexander shifting under the blankets to cover his naked body the best he could.  
"Where are you?"  
Alexander hesitated for a moment, now incredibly conscious of all the questions he would be asked, all the words he'd have to hear. He knew that Jefferson wasn't just going to help him. Still, Alexander called out, ignoring the small shake in his throat -   
"Bedroom. Up the stairs, to the right."

Alexander barely heard Thomas coming up the stairs, his walk somebody being silent and graceful despite the heaviness Alexander knew he carried. Well, he heard one thing, which was Jefferson stepping in a pile of glass and cursing, mumbling something about his shoe. Alexander couldn't quite hear what he said. Until, finally, he saw Jefferson hanging in the doorway, a mixture of confusion and irritation written over his face.  
He could have sworn he saw concern, as well, but it went away quicker than Alexander saw it.

\----------------------------

"Hamilton, what the fuck?"  
Jefferson hesitated in the doorway for a moment, unsure if he should really come in or not. The whole situation was.. Confusing, for him. As soon as he walked in, all he could see in the dim lights of the house was two piles of shattered glass by two different walls, empty bottles collected on the table and near the sofa.  
He didn't bother counting, but he knew it was more than ten. There was no way that was healthy.  
Then, there was Hamilton's voice, hanging with a high pitch as if he'd been crying.

Was he drunk?  
Fuck.

Then, it was when Thomas stepped foot into the room and saw Hamilton, when the confusion melted away into actual concern. He didn't bother pushing it away, this time. Here Hamilton was, tied to a bedpost, presumedly naked - though, hidden from the waist down. He had a steam of dried blood down the side of his face and dried tears on his cheeks. There were bruises, too, that Thomas knew he wasn't the one to make. On his shoulders, his chest, arms. Thomas knew they were more than just hickeys, he wasn't dumb. Plus, the fact that Hamilton was tied to the bedpost in general. His wrists looked red and raw, as if he'd been there for a while.

There was something wrong.

\----------------------------

Alexander served Thomas a grin when he saw the other's glance raking over his body, knowing fully well that it wasn't for any good cause. He knew exactly what Jefferson was looking at, exactly what he was thinking, what he was studying. Though, he didn't bother saying a word until Thomas spoke, finally taking a step forward. It wasn't a question that demanded detail, so Alexander wasn't going to give any.

"I can't untie myself and you're the only other person in my contact list."

Jefferson raised an eyebrow at Alexander, before shaking his head and taking another step forward, sitting on the expanse of the bed next to Alexander. He hesitantly reached for the rope, studying how tightly it was tied.

"What was this for?"

Alexander bit his tongue for a moment, blinking. He didn't have to be specific with this, either. Thomas was already untying him, he didn't have to give any answers.

"Sex."  
"You've got a boyfriend?"  
"Yep."  
"I bet that turns you on, the fact that you still lay with me."

Thomas's last words were a hot breath against the skin of Alexander's neck, sending a shiver down the immigrant's spine. He chewed on his bottom lip, looking away. Don't start, Hamilton, he wouldn't. Besides, you know better than to disagree while at somebody's mercy. Hasn't John taught you anything?

"..Yes."

Jefferson smirked, hands hovering off from the rope. He only loosened it at this point, Alexander's words stopping him from untying him completely. Thomas lightly nibbled on the nape of Alexander's neck, planting a small kiss on the area. It was surprising, how easy he forgot about the mess downstairs.

"Does the idea of me keeping you tied up here, and using you, turn you on as well?"  
"Yes."

Alexander's next words were slightly choked out, him shutting his eyes. He swallowed a lump appearing in his throat, wrists twisting in the rope. It was more comfortable, the hold, but the rope itself was still scratchy and painful.  
When Alexander felt Thomas's hands run down his sides, stopping at his hips, Alexander let a small sob escape his throat, him attempting to swallow down tears that he already knew were popping up. It didn't help, though.

"J-Jefferson, please, d-don't do this."

Thomas paused as soon as he heard Alexander's sob, his hands immediately coming off of the other's skin. They hovered above the area, Jefferson switching his gaze to look up at the immigrant. He looked so broken and helpless. He looked fucked. And his words really didn't help. How choked they were, how clearly pained he was. Then, it hit him.

Thomas let a small, inaudible breath escape him, his hands returning to his own lap. It was suddenly like walking on eggshells, any word or touch being enough to throw Hamilton overboard. It was something Thomas wasn't, at all, used to. He wasn't used to being careful with people, especially not Hamilton. Though, his conclusion had to be true. The blood on Hamilton's face, the bruises, the rope, all the glass, and the bottles.

"Alexander, he didn't.."

The use of Hamilton's first name had sent Thomas, himself, off guard, knowing that it was a formality he had only ever reached with one, two other people in the nature. Though, when Alexander didn't respond beyond choked sobs and shakes, Thomas swallowed down the lump of fear in his throat, making quick work of finishing untying the immigrant. As soon as he had done so, and thrown the rope away, Alexander had curled into himself, his face buried in his knees. Thomas stood up.

He hesitated in his movement for a moment, before looking around, grabbing a blanket he had found in the closet. Silently, he wrapped the blanket around Hamilton, who seemed too hazed to even notice. He picked the immigrant up carefully, as if any movement could shatter him, before quickly carrying him down the stairs, and out of the house. He unlocked his car with a small amount of struggle, gingerly resting Hamilton in the passenger seat before getting in the drivers seat, once again hesitating.

Thomas was supposed to be the one who thought ahead of life. He wasn't supposed to be the one who acted on impulse, or the rash one. He was supposed to think out his actions before following through with them.  
Though, surprisingly enough, Thomas didn't allow himself to actually think before driving away, towards his own house.


	5. Frozen in a Warm Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thomas needs answers and Alexander seconds his questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three posts a day? Unheard of!  
> Well, I can't get this fucking fiction out of my head, so I just.. Edit it.  
> Hope y'all enjoy and shit yeah  
> Sorry it's a bit shorter!

Alexander hadn't remembered falling asleep, nor leaving his own home, when he had woken up. He didn't seem to remember Jefferson taking him away from his home, and showering him. He didn't remember being dressed in warm and overly large clothing that hung off of him. He didn't remember being put to sleep in a master's bed, surrounded by too many blankets and pillows to count. However, with the new wardrobe, wet hair and unknown environment, it didn't matter what he remembered and what he didn't. He already knew that everything happened.

He groaned as soon as he woke up, a sharp pain shooting through his head like a missile, Alexander placing it as a headache. He sat up, rubbing his eyes open and having to slap himself to wake up fully. He expected to be squinting at a bright light, perhaps the morning sun or the bedroom light being on, but the only light near him was a soft glow under the closed door, promising that the rest of the house was alive. 

Alexander felt a surge of anxiety hit him as he glanced around, studying where he was. He couldn't tell if he was familiar with the area or not, since the entire room was shrouded in darkness, but he knew that this wasn't his own home. The bed and blankets were far too comfortable to be something Hamilton would own, far too big as well. Though, there was something familiar with his surroundings, something he couldn't place. Alexander carefully slid out of the bed, walking around as if on eggshells to avoid something like the floor creaking.

He walked around the perimeter of the room aimlessly, the tips of his fingers dragging over the smooth surface of the wall in an attempt to find the light switch. Which, he found next to the door he had discovered earlier, hesitantly flicking it on. To his surprise, it wasn't a harsh light, more of a soft golden glow than anything else.

Alexander studied the room, before swallowing. No wonder he recognized it, he was here not even a night ago. Jefferson's home. The sudden knowledge sprouted multiple questions in Alexander's mind, far too many for Alexander to leave silent in his mind. Alexander hesitantly opened the door to the room, silently slipping out before finding his way into the bathroom, studying his appearance in the mirror for a moment. His hair was wavey from having it air dry, him knowing that Thomas had somehow gotten him into the shower. Though, his skin wasn't red as it always was after showers, so Alexander must have been asleep for a while.

He was clearly dressed in Thomas's clothing, head to toe. The magenta button up he was currently wearing went down to his knees, the black sweatpants far beyond his feet. He looked like some child, playing dress up in his father's closet. He looked like an idiot, above all else.

Alexander scoffed at his own reflection, rolling his eyes before shutting off the light, leaving the room. The outfit would have looked nice on somebody else, like Jefferson, but definitely not him.

Alexander hesitated by the stairs for a moment, not sure how he would confront Jefferson. What was he to do, complain about the other taking care of him? Yes, that is what he's to do. Alexander took a deep breath, before hurriedly making his way downstairs, finding Jefferson in the living room. He stood behind the couch for a moment, out of the other's sight, before moving to sit in front of him, hands clasped together on his bouncing knee.

The Virginian was reading a book, of which the title Alexander couldn't read, while drinking a cup of.. Tea? He couldn't tell, but with the small paper hanging out from the edge of the mug, a string connected to it, it was clear he wasn't drinking coffee. Jefferson's posture was comfort in its definition, one leg crossed over the other, him leaning back on the cushions of the sofa behind him, his arm hung over the board as if wrapping his arm around another person. His facial expression wrote nothing but relaxation and calmness, something Alexander had never seen written on his face. However, after a few moments, when Thomas flipped his page, shut the book and looked up at Alexander, something flashed over his face for a moment before it shifted to irritation and amusement.

Now, those two expressions Alexander was used to.

Thomas leaned back, uncrossing his leg and instead placing his foot flat on the ground, practically spreading his legs in front of Alexander. Which, left the immigrant to narrow his eyes, not allowing himself to fluster in this moment. Thomas's gaze ran over Alexander slowly, dragging over his hidden frame up and down, before looking back up to Alexander's eyes, a smirk on his face.

"You're awake."

Alexander scoffed, rolling his eyes. He glanced down at his bouncing knee, stopping it from moving, crossing his legs in the seat he had now claimed as his own for the time being. He crossed his arms, a glare presenting its way in Alexander's eyes as he studied the expression on Thomas's face, now daring to look below.

"No shit, Sherlock. I've got questions, and you're going to answer them."

The determination in Alexander's voice didn't surprise Thomas in the slightest, who had now sat up, entwining his hands and resting them on his knees, keeping his gaze fixated on the other's flaming eyes. No, it wasn't the determination in his voice. It was the confusion, that rendered Jefferson to want to give in to what Alexander had asked, providing everything that might be wanted from the Immigrant. Thomas nodded, wordlessly, having Alexander release a relieved sigh in return. The sound made Thomas's lips twitch up ever so slightly, into the smallest grin, before Hamilton began speaking.

"Why am I here? How did I get here? Why is my hair damp? Why am I in your clothes? What happened to lead to this point, and why didn't you kick me out after all of-" Alexander gestured himself up and down, "This? Why did you do this, anyway?"

Alexander's surprised Thomas the slightest, not like he would admit it. Nor, would he show it in his expression, which kept the same smirk as it always had. He was sure it infuriated Hamilton to no extent, just like his minute silence was sure to. He wasn't sure how to respond, how much to give away, how much to keep, causing his hesitation.

"You called me because you were tied to your fucking bed. I brought you here because your house is fucked. Your hair is damp because I forced you into a shower, you smelt like shit and I ain't gon' let your dirty ass sleep in my bed without a shower. You were naked, so you needed fuckin' clothes. You also needed sleep. Shit, Hamilton, I've never seen somebody with worse fuckin' eye bags than you."

Alexander took a moment to take in the answers, nodding after a few moments of silence and standing up. Though, as soon as he did so, Jefferson matched his movement, taking a step closer to Alexander and pushing down on his shoulders so that he would sit back down.

Alexander huffed as soon as the move was made, rolling his eyes. Still, though, he didn't bother to stand back up, or move in general, with Jefferson standing in front of him, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carpet.

"Now it's my turn."

Thomas's words sent a shiver down Alexander's spine, which they really shouldn't have. Alexander nodded silently, fidgeting with his hands. In fact, he kept all of his attention down to his hands, not daring to look up at the Virginian when he began speaking.

"Why was there glass everywhere? And beer bottles? Why the fuck was it so dark? Why were you bleeding? Why were you tied up in the first place? Why did you freak out when I touched you? Why were you so badly bruised? Who hurt you? Do you know what's wrong with it, or are you ignorant of it?"

Jefferson's first question sent Alexander's eyes to blow wider than they would have been on a normal occasion, his pupils dilating. Alexander lifted his head to look at Jefferson, attempting to swallow down his anxious look, an eyebrow raised instead.

"Some kid threw a baseball through my window and it shattered. Some of the glass cut me. I was tied up for the same reason I had mentioned before, and it got kinky. It's not- he's not- I'm not being hurt. It's not like that."

The lies came easily from Alexander's mouth, as if he's had to respond the same way to other people's questions. Which, he had never had to do so. Nobody asked. Alexander stood up, easily soon to make his escape before Thomas narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer to deny any area that Alexander could use to escape.

"Your window wasn't broken."

Alexander stood silent for a moment, studying the look in Jefferson's eyes. It wasn't something he could place, nor was it something he had seen before. Ah, well. He'd seen it before, but he sure as hell hasn't seen it in Jefferson before. Besides, he hadn't seen it enough to know what it was, what it entailed.

Instead of responding to Thomas, Alexander balled the other's shirt in his hands, pulling the Virginian down into a kiss, fueled with pent-up rage and emotion and something else he couldn't place, not even in himself.

Jefferson knew he shouldn't feed into it the way he was. He knew that Hamilton probably wasn't ready for this so soon, wasn't stable enough nor steady enough for this. Not a kiss, not a makeout, especially not sex.

However, when Alexander led himself down onto the couch below him, pulling Thomas over him and wrapping his arms around the other's neck, when Thomas could feel Alexander's spread legs under him, he had brushed that thought to the side.

He had made a mistake in doing that, he realized, when he looked over a few hours later with a sleeping Hamilton in his arms.

There was a flaw in his decision.


	6. Away From Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the workplace is tense and Hamilton is fragile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - PTSD attack, blood, yelling, mentions of rape, branding, fire, burns, and scars.
> 
> Heeey guys! I've been getting a shit ton of comments, questions and support, and I just wanna thank everybody so much for even reading this <3  
> When I thought about making the fiction, I didn't expect anybody to read it. And, now, people.. Are. And I'm incredibly thankful for that.  
> I've been getting quite a number of questions, as well, which points me to this -   
> Please address your questions to my tumblr page! There's a possibility that many others might have the same questions, and perhaps they don't view the comment second. It would be easier for them to check my tumblr for it.  
> Again, thank you all for the support, it means the world to me. I hope you like the chapter!  
> https://bopitsneo.tumblr.com/  
> (I might not be able to write two chapters today, and tomorrow I have a long ass car ride, so I made this one chapter extra long. =) )

Alexander was gone before he had noticed Jefferson wake up, having to squirm out of the jackass's tight ass hold just to get out of the bed. He was still wearing Jefferson's shirt, but that was all that remained covering his body. He felt sick, wandering around the room in search of the bottoms he had been put in the previous day. 

When Alexander found them, he looked back at Jefferson's sleeping form, which was basking in the soft golden light of a lamp that they had forgotten to turn off before the.. Night, had started. Makin sure the other was asleep, Alexander disappeared into his bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as he could, before stripping off the shirt and stepping inside.

The hot water burnt Alexander's skin, and he had to ease himself into it, getting used to the sting of what could have been lava if he didn't know any better. He could have turned the temperature down on the shower, make the water colder or hell, even warm, but Alexander knew better. He knew that burning hot water killed bacteria faster, and if there was one thing he had wanted to kill, it was all of the germs on his top layer of skin. 

Roughly rubbing at his skin until it turned a vibrant red, it wasn't only bacteria he wanted to rid himself of. He couldn't care less about being dirty, he hadn't even enough money to afford taking showers more than two minutes long when he was a child. He got used to it. Nevertheless, he wasn't wary of germs or anything else riding on his skin. He wanted to scrub off every touch, point of contact. Every bruise on his neck, shoulders or collarbone, every inch of skin that burnt with previous rough handling, every place that had been kissed with searing hot lips. He wanted to wash it all off, as if he could. Though, no matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin, his arms now bleeding from them being so raw, he could still feel it all.

He could still feel the cheap, durable rope over his wrists, bounding him in place. The hot, unforgiving breath against his neck, that reeks of alcohol and bad intent. The wandering hands, delivering sharp smacks or scratches if Alexander dare move. The searing hot lips, acting as if planting tags, proving ownership. And, Alexander knew, it was all in his mind. He knew that he wasn't still there, he knew that he was currently in the shower. And, even then, he had lost the feeling of the water rushing over his head, the stinging of his raw skin, the soap suds stuck in his eyes. All he could feel, all he could see, was /that/. 

He was out of breath by the time he had returned back to reality, on the floor of the shower, the water now running freezing cold and burning his skin more than the hot water had. He didn't know if he was crying or not, but assumed that he was when he felt the familiar taste of salt water on his top lip, small sniffles being the only sounds he was making. He was probably in there for a while, judging by the new change of water temperature, and the banging of the door leading outside, a Virginian accented voice muttering yells that Alexander couldn't make out. Alexander reached up to shut the water off, now nothing but shivers, but remained on the floor of the shower, arms wrapping around his knees. Finally, Jefferson's words were audible when the water wasn't blocking them out, his volume still not bothering to lower.

"What the fuck, Hamilton? You've been in there for an hour and a goddamn half! Why the hell were you screaming?"

Alexander stayed silent for a minute, Jefferson stopping after asking those questions, probably knowing that Alexander ha heard them. He swallowed for a moment, resting his chin on his knees.

"Go away, I'll be out in a minute."

That's all it took. He heard a muttered swear behind the door, before the distinct sound of dress shoes tapping on tile lessened and lessened, the only sound now ringing in Alexander's ears being his own breath. Had he really been in there for an hour and a half? It seemed like five minutes. Alexander looked down at his arms and legs, which burnt red, before sighing, standing up with shaking knees.

It was the first time it had happened. Alexander assumed it was because of how much the other had drank. He had never gone that far before. And yet, Alexander couldn't seem to even insult him in his own mind, defending Laurens even when he wasn't speaking to anybody else. God, what had he gotten himself into? He knew that normal relationships were like this, he knew that this wasn't out of the ordinary, but shit. Maybe Alexander was too sensitive for relationships. Maybe that's why he only seems to do well with one night stands, or friends with benefits.

Alexander dried himself off, wincing when the soft towel came in contact with his burning skin, giving up and instead drying his hair with shaky hands. He wrapped the towel around his waist, moving slowly and carefully to slide Jefferson's shirt over his head, making the least amount of contact with his skin as he could. His chest and stomach weren't as bad as his arms and legs, that was for sure.

Alexander escaped the bathroom, quietly walking around to find where Jefferson was. When he didn't see his car in the driveway, he let a relieved sigh escape his lips, his shoulders rolling forward. His movements relaxed quite a bit, them originally being stiff, on watch. He was the only one in the house. Calm down.

Alexander went back to Jefferson's room, throwing on a pair of pants for the time being, before calling a taxi to get him to his own house. If his timing was correct, Laurens would either be gone to god knows where, (he never seems to give Alexander warnings before leaving,) or dead asleep. Alexander hoped to god that the other would forget about the situation, about the rope or Alexander leaving. And, when the taxi came and Alexander made his way to his house, it was clear that none of those things happened.

When Alexander walked into the house, the smell of smoke instantly distracted him from anything else, him scrunching up his nose with disgust. Well, there goes Alexander's hopes of being alone. Catching the back of a head, unruly hair marking who it was, Alexander instantly darted upstairs as quickly as he could, making his best attempt to not have any of the floorboards creak under him. It was a difficult task, the house being rather old, but Alexander was awfully light, so it eased the situation the slightest.

When he got to his room, he quietly kicked his door shut, throwing his shirt off as quickly as he could. Well, not his shirt, but all in the same. He did the same with his pants, before throwing on his green suit, taking a good five minutes just to get it on properly and not look like a fucking sack of potatoes. He pulled his dress shoes on, looking to his window as if contemplating jumping out. It wouldn't do him any good, perhaps more damage, so he decided against it.

He gathered his bag for work, swallowing for a moment, before slipping out of the room, quietly making his way downstairs. He only got half way when he saw Laurens standing in the doorway of Alexander's exit, a lighter in hand and arms crossed. He didn't have the familiar flush of his face that he did whenever he was drunk, didn't have any more bottles than the previous ones littering the house. Though, what he /did/ have were furrowed eyebrows, a contradicting grin on his face.

"Going to work?"

Alexander felt a shiver move down his spine, despite being perfectly warm in his outfit, before nodding, taking another step down the carpeted stairs. He hesitantly took two more, almost to the bottom before John extended a hand. Alexander stared down at it, before taking it, Laurens helping him down the last stair and only the floor.

"How many people share your hours?"

The questions were too normal for Alexander to think that something wasn't wrong. Even when John was in a good mood, didn't do any harm, he would still insult or belittle Alexander, never having a real conversation or exchange of questions. Laurens barely even knew Alexander, honestly. Hamilton swallowed, counting in his head, before responding.

"About thirty, forty. It's a respectable place."  
"Do they know you're taken?"

Alexander's face screwed into an expression of confusion, before he simply shook his head, raising an eyebrow. He had never a need to discuss his relationship with other's, except for situations like with Jefferson, so why would anybody ask? Even still, why would Alexander wear it like a respectable title?

"No. I've never had a need to discuss-"  
"Roll up your sleeve, would you?"

Alexander stood still for a moment, the original look of confusion turning to more of an expression of fear and hesitance when he saw Laurens uncross his arms, thumb running over the top of the lighter to switch it on, the golden orange flame emerging from the top. Alexander swallowed, before bringing a shaky hand to slowly roll up his sleeve.

"John, what are you going to-"  
"Shut up."

Laurens scoffed, rolling his eyes as if Alexander was an annoying child, constantly asking if he had games on his phone. He grabbed Alexander's wrist, pulling him closer before slowly bringing the fire up to Alexander's skin, already close enough for Alexander to feel the heat despite not touching the flame. Alexander tried to rip his hand away, but John's grip was far too firm. His words grew frantic, quick.

"Laurens, you really don't have to do this, I could tell everybody, I can stop talking to everybody, shit, I'll quit, just please don't-"

Alexander was cut off when he felt the flame against his skin, a broken cry escaping from his lips.

\--------------------

Hamilton was an hour late to work. That had never happened before, not that any of his co-workers, or even Washington, could remember. He had never been late, had never been absent, had never gone home early. He always seemed to practically live inside his fucking office, so when Thomas saw him walk in the door, eyes bloodshot and face red, there was clearly something wrong.

It wasn't much more than an assumption, an educated guess, but Thomas wasted no time in correlating it to what had happened in the shower. What /had/ happened in the shower? He still didn't know. He never got a response when he had asked, only being told to go away. At that point, it was time for him to leave for work anyway, and he hadn't enough time to sit there and bicker with the fucker. But now, seeing as though there was no doubt in the idea of Alexander recovering from crying, he had reason to believe it had to do with his unruly screaming from an hour earlier.

Thomas left for his office before Alexander could see him, shaking his head. This wasn't his fucking job. He wasn't the gremlin's babysitter just because they had sex one or two times. He shouldn't give a shit about what Hamilton does, or doesn't do in his free time. He shouldn't be so goddamn concerned. Still, he was. Even without Hamilton speaking to him all day, without any meetings or situations where he could see the other, the air was still tense. 

It was like they were one step away from getting into an argument. The air is still and silent, everybody waiting to see who threw the first word or insult, how the other would react. Like the very few snowflakes floating down from the sky, before the entire blizzard took place. Thomas didn't need these stupid metaphors to explain it, he shouldn't be bothering to do so at all.

He hadn't seen Hamilton in the break room, either, which wasn't a surprise in itself. However, what /was/ a surprise, was the fact that the coffee pot was still completely full. Alexander was the only one who drank that shit, because he was the only one who brewed it. He always made it too strong for anybody else to drink. The pot was always empty when Jefferson managed to get into the break room, now wouldn't be different.

So, Jefferson did the same exact thing that got him into the mess. The same curiosity, the same twinge of irritation and something he would never label as concern, the same light at the bottom of Hamilton's office door leading him to knock on the dense, dark wood of the immigrant's door. 

It took a good minute until he heard Hamilton's voice providing permission for Jefferson entering, the Virginian quickly slamming the door open, not bothering to shut it when he walked up to Hamilton's desk, palms pressed into the polished wood, his upper body leaning over it to get a good look at the immigrant.

"What the fuck is up with you?"

\--------------------

"What the fuck is up with you?"

The words hit Alexander like some sort of brick, or like a strong wind, almost knocking him off balance. He furrowed his eyebrows, before moving to stand up as well, Jefferson taking his hands off of the others desk to now stand up straight, arms crossing instead.

"Get out of my office."

It was an automatic response, a glare already settling in Alexander's eyes, a frown on his lips. Jefferson grimaced, but didn't move, didn't take a step nor did he even steal a glance at the door behind him, keeping his eyes locked with Alexander's.

"I'm not asking again."  
"Neither am I."  
"Hamilton, the hell is happening to you? You're like a fuckin' tree with all that goddamn shade."

At this point, Alexander was advancing to the door to make his own exit, as if this wasn't his own office. He wasn't going to deal with the Virginian fucker today, and if he wasn't going to leave, then Alexander was going to. However, Jefferson reaching out to grab onto Alexander's lower arm stopped him from moving. Instead, he let a pained cry escape his lips, quickly pulling his arm away, his free hand hovering over it.

Jefferson paused for a moment, glancing down at Alexander's arm, before looking back at him. He knew he wasn't that strong, and he also knew that he barely used any force. He let a moment of silence passing, before speaking.

"Roll up your sleeve, Hamilton."

Alexander stood still, and silent, before shaking his head, once again beginning to move towards the door. However, Jefferson grabbing his wrist now, pulling him backwards, stopped the immigrant from making any moves.

"Do it."  
"Jefferson, I'm not going to do what you tell me to do just because you think-"  
"Roll up your fucking sleeve!"

Jefferson's last words were a yell, him pushing Alexander's sleeve up on his own, instead of waiting for the other to do so, earning a wince. He pushed the green fabric up to his elbow, staring at the mark on the soft skin of Alexander's inner arm with parted lips, a silent gasp escaping them. His grip on the other tightened.

The letters "JL" burnt into Alexander's arm, already seeming to scar over, the skin swelling and red.  
Fuck.


	7. Layered Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jefferson finds out, and Alexander gets defensive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn it guys, I wasn't going to write another chapter today, but then I got feedback and now I'm mush.  
> thank you aaaaa  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> (sad fluff owo)

Alexander hadn't pulled his arm away.  
He knew Jefferson saw the branding, he knew that Jefferson was smart enough to get a clue as to what it meant. What he didn't know, however, is why the Virginian's eyes lingered on it for so long, why he seemed generally concerned, why his grip on Alexander had tightened like he'd never see Hamilton again. It took a few minutes of silence, perhaps five, when Jefferson's grip finally softened, Alexander taking that as a cue to take his arm away, rolling his sleeve back down to his wrist.

The room had gone quiet, a contrast to how they were originally yelling at each other, no words filling the air. The only sound audible was a distant sound of walking down the hall, towards to direction of Hamilton's office, in which Jefferson took initiative and stepped forward to quietly shut the office door, locking it. He hesitated there for a moment, not turning to look at Alexander, who had retreated back to his desk, sitting in his chair. 

"You can leave, now."

Alexander's tone seemed to confuse Jefferson, his shoulders squaring, him finally turning back to look at Alexander. His nose was slightly scrunched up, a frown playing on his lips, his eyes narrowed. Still, Thomas hadn't bothered to take any steps forward, nor out of the now closed door, instead leaning against it and crossing his arms.

"I'm perfectly aware I can leave now, I can leave whenever I damn please."  
Jefferson spat his words like some sort of venom in his mouth, like he would die if he didn't get them out in time. His facial expressions softened for a moment, though, if Alexander were to blink, he was sure he would miss it.  
"Who did that to you?"

Alexander studied Jefferson's expression for a moment, attempting to read into something that wasn't there. Well, not that he could see. He always prided himself on being able to read people like open books, knowing just what they were thinking and when. It didn't take a genius to study facial expressions, but nobody bothers checking body language, posture, tone, or appearance, either. However, it was never the same with Jefferson. The jackass was one Alexander could never study fully, could never read out, could never get right. It infuriated him.

Alexander leaned back in his seat, hands folded in his lap, feet kicked onto his desk. Which, of course, he wouldn't have done if there were papers there, but there weren't any. Jefferson repeated his question, earning a death glare from Alexander, before the immigrant decided to speak. It's not like he could really lie, or bother to lie, anyway. He doubted it was an unusual thing, to be marked like that, so he shouldn't bother covering it up.

"My boyfriend."  
"Your boyfriend?"

Yet another expression flew over the Virginian's facial features after he had echoed what Hamilton said, one that Alexander didn't know for sure, but that he wrote out to be disbelief. Which, in turn, caused confusion to ride over Alexander's own features, him slowly nodding. Alexander bit his tongue for a moment, literally, sorting out what he had wanted to say before speaking.

"Why are you looking at me like that? It's not fucking unusual. Don't fucking- Don't fucking, alienate me right now."

Alexander quickly grew defensive, over what, he wasn't sure. He swallowed, quick acting frustration and irritation burning in his throat and in his stomach, undoubtedly marking his face a light red. When Alexander had finished speaking, Jefferson's deep bronze eyes widened, his lips parting ever so slightly, without any real words escaping them. It was in that moment, when Alexander really second-guessed himself, doubted what he said to be true. Still, he held his ground, crossing his arms.

"Are you a fucking idiot?"  
Jefferson spoke before he bothered filtering himself, before even /thinking/ of doing so at that point. He narrowed his eyes, his nails digging into the fabric by his biceps. There was no way that Hamilton actually thought that what his 'boyfriend' did to him, was normal.  
"Do you seriously think that people do that? Are you that fucking dense, that ignorant, that you think this is normal fucking behaviour?"

Normally, Jefferson was the formal one when it came to speech. It was strange for Alexander to see him, swearing up a storm, without his usual glare or smirk. He just seemed mad. With what, Alexander didn't know. He had no goddamn clue why the Virginian was so upset with him. Though, Alexander didn't allow himself any time to think about it, matching Thomas's frustration and irritation to a tee, perhaps even more than the other had felt.

"Why the hell are you questioning my business, my relationship? What we choose to do, and don't choose to do, is none of your business! He fucking loves me, and I love him. He wouldn't do anything that would hurt me."

After Alexander finished speaking, the room fell silent for a few moments, far longer than Alexander was comfortable with. He quickly grew anxious, though still challenging the eye contact with Jefferson, whose expression had fallen. Clearly, Alexander had struck a nerve - how, he didn't know - a look of a wounded dog riding over the Virginian's features. Alexander almost wanted to take back his words, but he didn't dare. Besides, by the time he had thought about doing so, Jefferson's voice was already cutting through the air, like a knife through the tension.

"What else does he do to you?"  
His words were nothing like before, nothing like Alexander had ever heard come out of his mouth. They were soft, hesitant, careful. Like walking on eggshells, careful not to crack any of them. His eyes matched the tone of his words, continuously glancing down at Alexander's arm and back up to his eyes. He spoke again.  
"Why did he tie you up?"

With Jefferson's first question, Alexander had stood up from his desk, walking towards the other. He was ready to push the fucker out of his office, lock the door after him, block his number, and never talk to him. It wasn't his fucking place to be questioning Alexander's relationship, it wasn't his place to be telling Alexander what's right and what's wrong, wasn't his place to be calling Alexander stupid. And he was so close, /so close/ to Jefferson, arms reach, when he heard his second question. He paused, eyes widening, looking just beyond Thomas's shoulder as if he saw something that Jefferson couldn't. Which, he could, in a way. 

Thomas's eyes widened when he saw Alexander's glossing over, his face reddening ever so slightly, before a sob escaped his lips. Hamilton's hand went up to cover his mouth, his shoulders rolling over, him now looking to the ground.  
Thomas wasn't sure what to do, really. He'd seen Hamilton cry, what, once? And even then, it was on the same subject matter. It was strange for Jefferson to hear himself think that the sight looked heartbreaking, that he wanted to save Alexander from the situation, that he wanted to fix everything. It killed him, that he was thinking those things. So, he swallowed and pushed them away, doing the one thing he assumed would help.  
Thomas took a step forward, wrapping his arms around the other and giving a light sigh of relief when Alexander clutched onto him like he was the last thing on earth, instead of pushing him away. Thomas sighed again, lightly resting his chin on the other's head, shutting his eyes before whispering.  
" 'Ts alright. I'll fix this."


	8. Discussed Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander is stubborn but Jefferson managed to pull more answers from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I hadn't updated yesterday, nor earlier today! I woke up at one, (smart, I know) so I wasn't awake to update, sadly. Well, I'm making up for it here!  
> TW - a constant repeat of the word 'stubborn' lmao  
> Don't worry, next chapter will have you weak. <3  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> (I know it seems a bit shorter, but I swear it's not, it's just more compact don't kill me pls)

Well, if Jefferson thought he had no clue what he was doing, then he wasn't the only one on that boat.

If Alexander were to allow himself to cry in front of people, whether it be two tears or sobbing, it wouldn't be in front of somebody he shared no real relationship with. He would save it for his old friends, the only people he would find himself close enough to do so with. He would save it for his mother, when she was still alive, knowing that she could comfort him from any distress he was feeling. Though he was a child then, the point still stands. He would never be so... Open, with somebody he wasn't even sure he could trust with the sight. Though, that self-made promise, the rule he now lives by, was ruined as soon as Thomas Jefferson decided to actually pay attention.

While Hamilton didn't know how to recover from his previous emotional outbreak, which had happened barely a minute ago, Thomas didn't know how to deal with himself during, and after it. What was he to do? It was easy to pretend like it didn't happen, but it was hard to forget the situation in its entirety. Forgetting that Alexander had cried, would mean forgetting that Alexander had a reason to cry. It would mean that Thomas had to pretend that he didn't know something was wrong. Could he do that? He doubted so. There was never a time when he would blatantly ignore things like that. While similar to Hamilton on specific points, like stubbornness and determination, he was hardly as rash as the other. He didn't ignore major problems, he didn't brush shit off of his shoulders.   
Which, explained where they were now.

Alexander, sitting at his desk, finishing off a cup of coffee that he had previously left cold when he saw Jefferson originally walk into his room. Jefferson, sitting in front of Hamilton's desk, arm draped around the back of the chair, posture relaxed, legs slightly apart. While the immigrant looked anxious and uncomfortable, Thomas had barely matched the appearance, practically making himself a definition of relaxation and comfort. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Alexander, but there was also no reason for him to comment on it, instead keeping his stare down at the now empty mug in his hands, twisting it. It didn't take long before Thomas spoke, his tone sounding rather bored and uncaring, despite them both now knowing that he was the opposite.

"Talk, Hamilton. It's not like you don't know how you. Fuck, you never shut up during meetings, I doubt this is any different."  
Before he spoke, Thomas dished out an irritated sigh, studying the immigrant before him. He seemed as stubborn as ever, when he matched Thomas's gaze with his own glare after the Virginian finished speaking. Perhaps, Alexander's stubbornness is one of the traits Thomas hates the most about him. Really, it was difficult to say. He couldn't tell if he respected the unhealthy levels of determination, if he was jealous of it, or if he hated it. Perhaps it was somewhere in the middle. Well, he wasn't given enough time to sort it in the box before Hamilton finally spoke, narrowed eyes accenting his words.

"You didn't give me anything to talk about, dumbass."  
Alexander's words were barely even words, at that point, being listed easier as a scoff of vowels, an irritated display of what Alexander knew to do so well - speak. Instead of how he was sitting beforehand, cross-legged and curled up into his seat, he leaned back in the leather rolling chair, relishing in the fact that he heard no squeak accompanying the action. It was one of his favourite things about the chair, how quiet it was. He always had a sort for what he wanted to be loud, and what he didn't. Chairs had to be quiet, because there was (usually) never anybody in his office who he would want to irritate. However, his pens had to be loud, so he could obnoxiously click them on and off, sending a grin to a certain someone in a meeting when he was met with a glare. He had other examples, of course, but now wasn't the time to be discussing such unimportant topics.

"Yes, I had. I asked you a question, and instead of actually responding to it, you began crying. So, instead of being a little bitch this time, actually answer me when I ask: What else does he do to you?"  
Thomas matched Alexander's flinch when he had seen it, acutely aware of how harsh his words were. He was already getting frustrated with the other's unwillingness to comply, as he was sure displayed in his tone, but he had already promised himself not to leave before he got everything he wanted from the man in front of him. If Alexander was going to be stubborn, then Thomas was going to match him on it. It wasn't a new game they shared, of course. They fucking worked together. They knew what they were doing, they were used to it. It was like a dance between the two, one that left them frustrated and worn out, though one that they never ended. It was refreshing, in a way, to see that it was still happening through all of the shitstorms Thomas found himself in.

"Depends. I'll need you to be more specific."

The immigrant's words left a dry taste in Jefferson's mouth, and Alexander could see the fact he was taken back, but that didn't stop him from retaliating quickly - 

"The mark on your arm. JL. What does it mean? Who did it to you? Why? How did they- how did they do it, anyway?"  
Alexander had instinctively rolled up his sleeve when Thomas mentioned the mark, staring at the letters he had spoken about. He gently ran his thumb over the burn, earning himself a small hiss, retracting his hand when he felt how it stung. It was difficult for Alexander to find himself bending to Jefferson's wish, answering him without much of a fight, but what else could he do at this point? Force the Virginian to leave? They both knew that wasn't going to happen, especially not any time soon. Alexander gingerly rolled his sleeve back up over his wrist, careful to not have the fabric come in contact with the mark, before crossing his arms, looking back up at Jefferson.

"John Laurens, for what it means, who did it. He didn't want to- he wanted to make sure people knew I was taken, so he burnt his initials into my arm."  
Alexander noticed Jefferson's visible shudder, his gaze raking over Alexander's arm before moving back to his eyes. Though, he only bothered continuing, pretending he hadn't seen it in the first place.  
"He wants me to be safe, I suppose. He doesn't want me to get in harm's way, doesn't want me to associate with others in fear that I'll get hurt. He's a bit protective, sure, but he's only doing it for my safety. I know he would never do anything to hurt me, and-"  
"Stop it."

Thomas cut Hamilton off before he could continue, earning a confused expression. The fact that the gremlin was attempting to make up for Laurens's behaviour, attempting to defend him and chalk it up to him caring about Alexander left a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn't sure which was worse for him. The fact that this was even happening to Alexander, or the fact that Hamilton was attempting to play it off. Was the fucker seriously ignorant to it? Jefferson had seen the immigrant as an intelligent man, and he knew that the shorter male had a brain. How did he not see the problem with his own situation? Jefferson sighed, bringing a hand up to his head, massaging his temples.

"Hamilton, imagine I came into the office with a black eye and a bleeding lip. Imagine you asking about it, and I told you that my boyfriend had done it to me. What would you say? How would you react?"

Alexander seemed taken aback by the question, his eyes widening slightly. He couldn't really imagine the scenario happening to Jefferson, in all honesty. He knew that Thomas would never allow it to happen. And, even still, if it /did/ happen, and Thomas told him that it was his lover who had done it to him? Alexander would flip his shit, and he knew that. He would talk Thomas into staying with him, file lawsuits, call the police, anything he could to help. Though, he knew why Thomas asked the question. Alexander decided on shrugging, examining his nails.

"I don't know."  
"You're staying at my house tonight, pack your shit."

Thomas was barely surprised at the response he had received by the shorter immigrant, standing up and cracking his knuckles. Like mentioned before, it was never him to act rationally and without thinking. He wouldn't have proposed the idea if he hadn't thought about it beforehand, if he wasn't completely serious and sure about the option. And, when Hamilton had glared at Jefferson, standing up as well, he was even more sure about the choice. God, especially with his words.

"I can't! First of all, I would have to ask John first. Secondly, even if I didn't, and he was to find out, he would /seriously/ flip shit, Thomas, seriously-"  
Alexander's use of Thomas's first name had struck some sort of cord in the Virginian, causing him to halt in his movement for a moment, completely stilling. He swallowed, looking back at Alexander from when his gaze had previously been studying the door, cutting the other off by quickly leaning in and connecting their lips. It was.. Strange. The kiss was short, sweet, nothing they had ever shared before. Though, hell, if it shut Alexander up and calmed him down enough to do as Jefferson said? Jefferson couldn't give a shit. He whispered, keeping his tone low, still slightly bent down to meet Alexander's eyes.

"Pack your shit, now. We're leaving."  
And, Alexander did as told, still with hesitance but not nearly enough as before.


	9. Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message for all the readers <3

Hey guys! Now that my spring break is over, and school is kicking in once again, I'm sad to announce that my updates will slow down quite a bit from what they originally were, which was 2-3 chapters per each day. It might have to go to only on the weekends, or once every week. However, this doesn't mean that I won't be updating at all! I promise I do not plan on abandoning this store. Thank all of you for your lasting support, comments and kudos, and I hope you can understand the halt. See you next chapter. <3


	10. Lost Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander goes to Jefferson's place, and some things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - rape, blood, mentions of (consensual) sex, alcohol, graphic depictions/smut - Rape is a graphically depicted with detail, so I'll have a warning ahead of it so you don't have to read it. To actually know exactly what happened during it isn't important - simply knowing that it "happened" is - so it won't be an issue to skip. My goal is not to make anybody uncomfortable, or triggered, by writing it, so I'm open for people skipping over it for their own comfort. <3  
> h o l y s h i t i'm not dead!  
> Hey y'all, the queen is back for a new chapterrrr  
> My schedule is less busy during the weekends, and I seem to have more inspiration and less writers block, so here I am! I'm so sorry for that long ass hiatus. Though, sadly enough, I don't think I'll be able to post multiple times a day anymore. Perhaps when school lets out, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I hope you like this chapter, as it's been running through my mind all day yesterday <3333 (sorry its shit lol)  
> (Not sponsered by Postmates i swear)  
> (also im so sorry yall gonna hate me)  
> (also holy shit 3,000 words im choking)

It wasn't really surprising how easily Alexander could comply with directions. If Washington were to tell him to write something, he would. If he was told to swear somebody off from stupidity, he would. Though, what /was/ surprising, was how easily he gave up on any sort of fight, how he was knocked into place as a silent tomb. 

Hamilton was never the shy, quiet introvert. Everybody knows this. The fucker was loud, opinionated, brave, and spiteful. You'd never see him in a room by himself, or in a group without speaking in quick tounges. Even when the man was exhausted and torn down, which happened to be every single day, was he quick and rambunctious. It must have been some sort of talent. Maybe it was the coffee. The gremlin seemed obsessed with it, anyway.

Though, that wasn't the same anymore. Well, he was still loud, forsay. Nothing was going to destroy his volume, or the impact he has on others. Though, instead of a "speak more, teach more" ideal, he balanced on the likes of Burr, perhaps even Washington and Madison when he converts to "speak less, teach more". And his silence wasn't something Thomas was used to. He wasn't used to the immigrant being in his passenger seat, silent for nothing but occasional yawns, curled up like some sort of ball of himself. Thomas has never seen the man without his mouth open, without his quite colourful vocabulary reaching anybody's and everybody's ears. But here he was, unlike himself, and unlike anything Thomas could place. He wasn't sure if he was grateful for the silence, or frightened, in a way. It sure as hell unnerved him.

When Thomas had led the smaller male inside, Hamilton already knew his way around, and Thomas wasn't going to plead innocent as to why. He knew exactly what the two had been up to in previous circumstances. Enough, and enough times, for Alexander to be acquainted with every wall or flat service, for his knees to burn from any cold tile or rough carpet, for him to know just how soundproof the walls are. It wasn't something they should want to hide - at least, from themselves. The world didn't need to know, and if it did, Thomas wouldn't know what the hell to do with himself. Though, it was slightly comforting, in a way, when he watched Alexander immediately make his way upstairs, disappearing into a large room to the right, which had just so happened to be his bedroom. 

Instead of joining with the immigrant, Thomas stayed downstairs for a few moments longer than he would have liked, busying himself on his phone. He would have gone out and actually purchased and made a dinner, but Hamilton was already in his house. He should have had it done previously, as to not make the other wait longer than he had to. - Though, since when did Thomas give a shit about Hamilton and how long he waited? - Besides, that's what Postmates is for. If Thomas was going to have the app, he was going to fucking use it. So, he did. He bought quite a hefty amount of Chinese food, which was probably terrible for them, and two bottles of wine, which he doubted they would even get through. Hell, it barely put a dent in how much money he had, so why not buy more than necessary? Alexander was thin and fragile as shit, anyway. He could use the extra food. 

After Thomas paid the man in advance, and checked his address in, he finally went upstairs, surprising himself with how slow he had bothered to arrive. He was hesitant in going to his room, in seeing the other, because he had no fucking clue as to what he might view, what sort of sight could ruin him. And, yes, those thoughts were irrational. It's Alexander Hamilton, in Thomas's bedroom - there wasn't much to see. However, with all else in the fucking world currently happening around the two, it slowed down Jefferson's movements, if not by the smallest amount.

It was like a dance. A dance with two partners, not knowing which one would come out to lead at the end as they both swirled around him, pulling him from the left and the right. One partner danced the waltz, movements flowing and perfectly calculated, like a math problem that a student had all the skills and experience to solve, but no matter what, would make a tiny mistake in the paragraph long problem and fail. And the other partner.. They didn't seem to have a dance in mind, using salsa and ballet to approach Thomas, to spin him out of the other's arms. And, no matter where he would be whirled to, Jefferson still hesitated, still didn't let his hand wander down and press the handle, until both left him, standing off to the side with perfect attention and posture that dancers possessed. He shook his head, clearing himself of the thoughts currently obstructing his mind, before opening the door.  
The scene he was greeted with was one he wouldn't mind holding in his memory for the rest of his life.

\----------------------------

Alexander wasn't really sure if he wanted to be here.  
Of course, being at Jefferson's house meant that he wasn't at his own house. Being with Jefferson meant that he wasn't with Laurens. And yes, he enjoyed spending time bickering with his political enemy, the one man he hates the most, more than he enjoyed spending time with his lover. Oh, and he knew it was bad. He knew he shouldn't be saying these things, and he should just be grateful. He knew that John just wanted to protect him, wanted to keep him safe. He knew the other loved him to death, literally. What he didn't know, was why he felt this way. If it was so normal, then why did Alexander get apoplexy thinking of the freckled male? It was all Alexander could think about on the side there, comparing and contrasting two completely separate lives, which just so happened to collide.

When they got to the house - which was the biggest lie Alexander had even spoken, what Jefferson lived in was nowhere near a house - Alexander didn't hesitate before quickly moving up the stairs, two at a time, almost falling just to get to Jefferson's room quickly. It was his favourite place in the house, despite the fact that he was more acquainted with the basement or the living room. The bedroom was intimate. They weren't. Still, Alexander knew just how comfortable the bed was since he first visited the place, giving nothing but a brief lay on it and already having been relaxed. So, when Alexander got acquainted with the room, having memorized the directions to it, he instantly went to lay on the bed, a relaxed sigh escaping his lips as he had done so. Everything must have been expensive, that was for sure. The mattress was one that practically melted under you, shifting to conform to your body type for maximum comfort. The blankets were soft and fluffy, like fluffy vanilla frosting, warm enough to want to stay buried under but thin enough to never overheat. The pillows followed the same stance, being the perfect in-between of soft and firm. Alexander doubted that any of it cost less than a thousand, which made sense as to why he never had any of these items.

When Jefferson finally came into the room, leaning against the doorway and studying Alexander with an amused expression ridden over his face, Alexander was already a bundle of blankets, thankful for the warmth they provided, soothing a chill in his bones that he never realized was constantly there until he was heated back again. He looked like he was ready to fall asleep then and there, laid out comfortably, eyes fluttered closed. Though, they both knew better than to assume him asleep, something so rare to Alexander that it might as well be like asking him if he's seen a dragon. Alexander opened his eyes back up again when he heard faint footsteps, being greeted by the sight of a now shirtless Jefferson, sitting up in the bed next to him, shifting to get himself comfortable. Alexander sat up so he wasn't taking as much room, pursing his lips and glancing away, unsure of what to say. All of this was new to him. It was a new level of intimacy - something they never shared - to have somebody come to your house with no ill intentions, sharing a bed, not yet fighting. Alexander didn't even share a bed with Laurens. It was.. New.

"I ordered food, 't's on its way. I've also got Netflix, so you can choose whatever movie."  
Jefferson leaned over Alexander for a moment to grab the remote, dropping it in the immigrant's hand when he had gotten it, before leaning back away from the other, sitting normally and regaining the space between them. Alexander couldn't help his confused expression for a moment, not taking any movement to do any of what he was said. He wasn't sure what he was brought here for, that much was obvious, but he didn't expect a fucking movie night between the two. He didn't expect Jefferson to order food for them, he didn't expect him to allow Alexander to choose any movie, he didn't even expect to get a bed. But here it was, here they were. Jefferson was always something that Alexander couldn't place. He was always confusing, unable to track, unpredictable. He was a lot like Alexander, in this case. Though, Hamilton doubted that /anymore/ would have guessed this situation.

"What?"  
Jefferson rose an eyebrow at the question, a slightly amused expression on his face. He repeated after Alexander.  
"What? Did you not hear me?"  
"No, I heard you. I'm not fucking deaf. But, why?"  
"Why what?"  
"Why did you buy food? Why are we about to watch a movie together? Why am I even here?"  
"Hamilton-"  
"Why are you being so /nice/ to me?"  
The last question had put Jefferson on a halt, and Alexander could see it just as well as he could hear it. It was a physical stop, from whatever action he was about to carry through with, from whatever emotion he was going to display. A full on, personal freeze. And, Alexander didn't know he could have that effect on people. On a specific person, whom he was currently sharing a bed with. It only raised more questions. Though, when Jefferson parted his lips to speak, and got cut off with the doorbell ringing, it didn't matter what questions Alexander still had, or the questions that had already hung in the air for the two to bask in. Because, Jefferson was already gone from the bed, descending down the stairs and opening the door for whoever had been out front. And, Alexander knew he did something wrong. Not something that caused Jefferson to leave, no - he already had to do that. But something to cause him to stop so suddenly, to react in such a way. Perhaps Hamilton was reading into it, that was completely possible. But when something unknown happens during the unexpected, it's hard not to assume and reassume everything you see.

\----------------------------

The rest of the night was pretty expected, based off of the information Alexander was already given about how it would go. Food, and movie. Well, with wine mixed in, but Alexander didn't know that would be involved. He was told about Jefferson ordering food, not two fucking bottles of wine. It didn't matter, though. It's not like he drank any. Hell, Alexander was hesitant on eating. He had to constantly ask Jefferson if it was alright, or if he was eating too much and if he was wasting food. In which, he got a surprising amount of reassurance, Jefferson being surprisingly calm about the situation. Alexander didn't know why, nor did he ask. But damn, did he eat. He hadn't had a real, full meal since what, last year? Binging on bags of chips and getting himself used to the bitter taste of black coffee was his go-to. He didn't have time to eat full meals. Nor, was he really allowed. Which, Alexander was wary about, but knew that food was expensive, and knew that John simply wanted to save money. He let it fly over his head.

One part of the night that was unexpected, though, was the increasing closeness of the two throughout the movie. It wasn't something Alexander had noticed until he felt his arm brush against Jefferson's, in which he was a good foot away from the other when they had started. Though, it wasn't something Alexander could complain about. Closeness meant body heat, which meant heat in general. He was perfectly welcome to that. However, one thing he was slightly iffy about was Jefferson's arm around him, pulling him even closer to the Virginian's side, Alexander letting a small yelp escape his lips when it happened. Even still, though, he didn't /really/ mind. He kept his eyes on the TV screen, studying every scene of the movie he had seen a million times, assessing every character as if they were new to him. Sometime during that, though, Alexander found his head on the Virginian's shoulders, eyes fluttering closed, still awake to listen to the film. Yes, he was tired. Yes, he could admit that. But he wasn't about to actually fall asleep.

Alexander opened his eyes when he felt something run over his leg, his vision slightly burry. He could see, but it was like a fog of static ran over his eyes, disconnecting him from reality. He attempted to blink the fog away, but it didn't work, leaving him to focus solely on whatever was on his leg. He looked down at it, noticing a hand slowly running up, it's touch feathery light against Alexander's bare skin. It didn't take a genius for Alexander to know that it was Jeffersons, simply having to see it to put two and two together. He shifted slightly, moving himself away from the other, quick to blame it on lack of comfort if he was asked to do so. However, Jefferson had moved with him, hand now stuck on his knee. Alexander swallowed, looking up at the other, who kept his gaze on the screen in front of him, a small smile on his lips.

\- WARNING - 

"Jefferson?"  
The Virginian only hummed in response, hand coming off of his knee to once again slowly run up Alexander's leg, slow to pace like some sort of snail. He broke his gaze from the TV screen to look at Alexander, raising an eyebrow.  
"What's the matter?"  
Alexander pursed his lips for a moment, thinking of how he should go about the question. He glanced away for a moment, before shaking his head, looking back to Thomas.  
"Well, nothing's the matter, but-"  
Alexander cut himself off when he felt Thomas's hot breath against his neck, him leaning up to the other's ear to gently shush him. The action brought a shiver down Alexander's spine, and his hands which lay idle on either side of him tightened a grip into the sheets under him when he felt the Virginian's lips against his neck, trailing hot kisses down the expanse of the immigrant's bare skin.

"W-Wait, no, Thomas-"  
Alexander was once again cut off by the Virginian's shushing, lightly nibbling at the shorter male's skin. The hand which was slowly trailing it's way up Alexander's leg had now settled at his crotch, palming the other through thin layers of fabric, which caused a shaky gasp to escape from Alexander's lips. His free hand had fumbled to get a hold of the bottom of Alexander's shirt, Jefferson pulling away from the other just long enough to slip the article off, before trailing down to his collarbone, leaving a hot mark just under the bone. Alexander brought his hands up to push at Jefferson's chest, hoping to push the other away before they were pinned above his head, into the harsh wood of the headboard. 

"H-Holy shit, no, /please/-"  
Alexander was cut off with a groan from the Virginian, who had now moved to straddle Alexander, using his free hand to cover the other's mouth. Alexander felt a familiar prickle of tears well in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks when Thomas bucked his hips against the other, biting at the immigrants now bare shoulder. It stung like a bitch, causing Alexander to let out a muffled yelp, eyes widening when he saw a certain crimson red drip off of the Virginian's lips, turning his grin into something far more sinister than it already was. Then, Thomas's hand was off of Alexander's mouth, and was replaced with a familiar pair of lips, quick and eager on their own. They worked against Alexander's with an unplaced passion, and Alexander could taste the wine on the other's lips, mixed with his own blood. Alexander shut his eyes as tightly as he could, salty tears still managing to roll their way out of them. Thomas's now free hand left to roll down Alexander's body, struggling to get his shorts off, before managing with a single pull, tossing them to the side. He did the same with the immigrant's boxers, before pulling away from the kiss, hovering over Alexander, harsh breaths escaping his lips.

He leaned away from the other for a moment, letting go of Alexander's hands to fidget with his own pants, sliding them off with his own boxers before once again leaning down over the other, hand returning to pin Alexander's fidgety and quick hands. Alexander let small sobs escape his lips, mixed with multiple words of denial, eyes opening and widening when he felt Thomas against his entrance, slowly pushing himself in. Alexander screamed.  
"No!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoilers -
> 
> Tai buvo svajonė


	11. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander knows Jefferson isn't guilty, but is wary of him nevertheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - tears  
> I feel bad for the tenth chapter so here we are :)

Alexander woke up to a hissing of words, and a shaking of his shoulders, in which he couldn't place who was doing so, nor could he place why. Though, what he /could/ place, was the fact that he didn't remember ever falling asleep in the first place, and he didn't remember having to be woken up. Especially not by who he now placed to be Jefferson, leaning over him.

"-ng wake up, holy hell. Hamilton!"

Alexander blinked his eyes open to see a pained expression on the Virginian's face, squinting slightly to get rid of the sun in his eyes coming through the blinds covering the window. And, when he did, and got a full study of Jefferson, his eyes widened, before he instantly stumbled away from the other simply to open the distance between the two, almost falling off of the bed to do so. The reaction only caused Thomas's face to screw into an expression of untampered confusion, a genuine look that listed a sort of ignorance that the fucker shouldn't have. He stood still for a moment, before shaking his head, reaching out to Alexander who once again crawled away from him, now backing himself to the corner of the bed. It was a lot less comfortable when he was a centimetre away from tumbling off.

"D-Don't touch me, don't even get /c-close/ to be or I swear to god I'll-"  
"What the hell are you on about?"  
Jefferson's voice interrupted what Alexander was originally going to say, stopping him from making whatever empty threat he was originally going to go for. Alexander took a moment to catch his quickly fading breath, attempting to stop himself from hyperventilating or developing into a panic attack that he sure as hell didn't need right now. Not here, not with him. Thomas continued to speak, the confused expression melted into an irritated one, eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulling at his full lips.  
"I was trying to wake you up from a fuckin' nightmare, you ass. You woke me up by screaming, and you kept fuckin- fucking frailing around like a fish out of the water. Y'aint gonna keep running from me just 'cause you think I'm some fuckin' devil."  
Thomas's Virginian drawl accented his words majorly like every single other time he ever got irritated with the shorter immigrant, him crossing his arms and glaring at Alexander. Alexander sat there still for a moment, before silently shaking his head, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

"Y-You're lying."  
It took him a bit to say that, looking away from Jefferson to scan the room. The two wine bottles that were open and empty last night were now closed and full. Neither of them was naked, and Alexander was still wearing the shirt that had been peeled off of him. It showed no signs of distress, either, besides a slight wrinkle from being slept in. When Alexander finished studying the room, he looked back at Jefferson, who's confused expression was once again back on his face, riding over the irritation. It then softened, after a second, as if a realization had hit him.  
"Hamilton-"  
Though, before he could continue speaking, Alexander stood up from the bed, a bit shakily at that. He took a moment to steady himself, the palm of his right hand pressing against his forehead to get rid of the spike of dizziness that settled there, before he stumbled to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door after him when he turned the light on. Jefferson hesitated for a moment, before getting up and following after him, hanging in the doorway.

Alexander stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, studying what he saw. There were no marks on his neck, nothing of bites or kisses that might have now been marked into his skin like a tattoo cut into an arm. Nothing of irritation, no red blotches or teeth marks. Alexander hesitated, before lifting his hand to his shirt, hesitantly pulling it to the side to look at his shoulder. There was nothing there. No bite mark, no blood, no redness. He checked his other shoulder. Same thing, no marks. There was nothing, anywhere. No indication of anything happening.  
"Alexander-"  
Alexander ignored Jefferson, his gaze now lifting up to his own eyes, which were glossing over with a certain, familiar wetness that he became more than acquainted with. They made his eyes look like glass, as if they weren't real at all, reflecting the light perfectly as to make them seem lighter. Then, the tears were rolling down his cheeks, in perfect lines, a symmetrical droplet forming at his jawline before dropping to collect on the soft fabric of his shirt.

Then, there were more.  
Soon enough, soft sobs escaped his lips, as Alexander slid down the wall of the bathroom until he was sitting on the floor, knees to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He shut his eyes, burying his face in his legs as if it made him invisible to the human eye, as if it saved him from any problems in life.  
Then, there was Jefferson, idling helplessly in the doorway of the unneededly large bathroom, looking down at the broken immigrant with concern riding over his usually sharp features. He was crying. Again. And Thomas had only ideas as to why, only hints as to what the hell Alexander had dreamt about, only clues as to why he seemed so afraid of Thomas - so afraid of himself, at that. 

"Hamilton, please-"  
He reached out to place a light hand on the smaller males shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle and laced with great amounts of care and hesitation, only for his hand to be shrugged off, Alexander shifting to get farther away from the Virginian. And, in all honesty, Thomas didn't know what the hell to do. It was only now, when he realized how much he cared about the smaller male in front of him, how much it broke his heart to see him so upset over something that Jefferson couldn't even help - a situation so outside of his reach. He didn't know why, or how, or when any of this happened. Didn't know why he wanted to help Hamilton so badly. Didn't know /how/ to.  
So, He bit his bottom lip, before backing out of the bathroom, silently shutting the door behind him before leaving downstairs, to the kitchen. God, hopefully food will help.

\-------------------------------------------

When Alexander was finished, he stood up, his knees quick to give in on him, leaving him close to falling back down if he hadn't gotten a hold of the counter before he had done so, balancing and steadying himself. He stared at himself in the mirror before he willed his face to lose its redness, wiping his eyes and nose with a towel, before opening the door again, allowing himself outside. He hesitated for a moment, before going back into the bedroom to grab the items he brought with him, only then travelling downstairs.  
When he did so, he was greeted with the smell of what seemed to be baked chocolate, giving a rather pleasant aroma to the house. Alexander furrowed his eyebrows, before quietly walking to the kitchen, hanging in the doorway where he saw Jefferson, prepping a plate of brownies, apparently attempting to make it look good. With how he was fussing over the display, whether they should be stacked or side by side, it was a bit amusing. Alexander cleared his throat for a moment, causing Jefferson to look up, Alexander glancing away from him.

"I'm going to go."  
Thomas furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, standing up straight from where he was leaning over the plate, gaze flickering down to Alexander's bag before looking up at his face, tear stains still evident on his face.  
"Wait, before you do-"  
Though, Thomas didn't speak quick enough - he never seemed to be able to, at this point - as the previous sight of Alexander's front changed to Alexander's back, him retreating to the exit/entry of the house. Thomas let a small scoff escape his lips, before setting down the plate, following after Alexander.  
"Hamilton, wait. Can you /please/ tell me-"  
Alexander adjusted so his bag was over his shoulder.  
"What did you-"  
The door was open, Alexander taking a step out.  
"Alexander, please, I car-"  
Alexander fully stepped out of the house, the door shutting behind him, leaving Thomas cut off from his own words and standing in the hallway, alone.  
He never thought that he would be so upset over Hamilton leaving his house.


	12. This Isn't Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander goes home, and Laurens can't decide what he wants to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abuse, conclusions, ambulance, namecalling
> 
> Ah, this will make y'all feel extra m a d. Or it won't, I'm not awfully sure!  
> Can I just say how much I love making people feel things? I know, it's really weird. But like, when I find out that somebody actually gets a spike of happiness or sadness or excitement with what I write, what position I put these characters in, it really warms my heart. Just.. Knowing that I'm able to do that. So, thanks for all the comments and stuff, I really appreciate them. <3

Alexander walked home instead of calling a cab or taxi, something that he regretted as soon as he stepped outside. It was the middle of April, it was supposed to be warm with a light breeze. However, it was freezing cold, nowhere near the seventy degrees it should have been. The sharp, biting winds of an almost winter scene bit at his skin and cut through his veins to get to his bones, sending a nonstop shiver to run up and down the collagen. And, yes, he shouldn't have continued walking when he realized how cold it was. He should have gone back into Jefferson's home and called a ride to take him there, so he didn't have to risk his ass freezing in his spot. Still, though, he was too stubborn to admit that he was at fault, always having been one to follow through with plans instead of stop midway. Which, led him to where he was now, a shiver running through his goosebump-covered arms, attempting to fight the pushing winds to get home.

Really, he didn't know why he had left. It was just a dream. Just a dream, just a dream, just a /dream/, and Alexander still couldn't forgive the star, even when said Virginian had not a clue as to what it entailed. Jefferson didn't know what he had done in Alexander's mind to have put him so on edge, to have him leave his house with nothing but a few exchanged words and a received plead to stay. He didn't understand his own actions - nor, though, did he understand Jeffersons. He didn't understand why the other had woken him up from his nightmare, instead of just leaving Alexander there. He didn't know why the Virginian didn't insult or belittle him when he began crying, sinking to the floor like some child without their toy. He didn't know why, for when he had said he was leaving, why Jefferson had asked so many questions before he had a chance, what Jefferson was close to saying before being cut off, what sparked the other's curiosity. He didn't know, nor understand any of it. Jefferson was confusing, and that was all Alexander knew.

When the immigrant finally made his way home, thankful for the lack of wind even though the house itself had no heater and the temperature was practically the same, he wasn't greeted with any noise or sight that he would have been previously used to. There was no sound of the TV in the background, warning him of a possibly sleeping John, or a perfectly awake one. There were no bottles of beer or shattered glass, aside from the earlier day, that would promise any sort of activity within the building. The only thing there was, was a soft glow of a golden light under Alexander's closed door, one that Alexander had no memory as to turning on. That must be where the other is. Alexander wasn't sure if he should be glad to find the freckled male, or if he should be worried about the fact he was in Hamilton's room. He was a mix, in all honesty.

Alexander quietly shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it when he slowly made his way up the stairs, halting in front of the door to his room, hand hovering above the doorknob. He had two options, of one he had already picked before realizing that there was a choice. He could leave. He didn't have to face Laurens at all. He didn't have to walk into his room, didn't have to confront the male, didn't have to risk whatever the hell would happen if he were to do so. Or, he could. He could open the door and speak to his lover. He could have a normal conversation with him, not have anything happen, and be happy in his arms. Both of these were possibilities. And still, knowing that he could walk away at this moment, he put pressure down on the doorknob, turning it and opening the door.

The sight was one that worried Alexander in the slightest. Laurens, laying on /Alexander's/ bed with /Alexander's/ phone in hand, reading something off of it that Alexander didn't even want to guess on. He had a grin on his face, despite being matched with glossy eyes, and when he looked up to see Alexander, his grin widened. He hummed, sitting up, and Alexander already knew that something bad was going to happen. He could practically feel the sharp hiss of a burn under his feet, him walking on firely coal with whatever move he was about to make, whatever he was about to say, whatever he could do. Laurens stood up, tsking, taking a step towards the immigrant.  
"When?"

The question his lover had proposed rung in his ears, making Alexander's face screw up into a look of confusion, deep brows furrowing into his eyes. He shook his head for a moment, taking a step back to accommodate for the new lack of distance.  
"What do you me-"  
"Tomorrow, after work, your place."  
When Alexander had taken a step backwards, Laurens took a larger one forwards, trapping Alexander between him and the harsh wood of the door behind him. John's words finally caught familiarity in his mind, as he could finally place where the hell they were coming from, what the hell John was quoting.

~ And, yet, Alexander was the one who pushed Thomas off of him, earning a huff in return. Alexander was the one who moved over to his desk, breath heavily as he wrote down his phone number on a sheet of paper, pushing it into Thomas's chest without care.  
And, like that, without an exchange of words, Jefferson was out of his office, and out of site. It didn't take even a minute before Alexander got a text, though, from an unknown number. He changed the name.  
> Incoming message: Jefferson.  
"When?"  
It was one question, that sent a shiver down Alexander's spine. He really shouldn't be doing this, knowing fully fucking well it was going to land himself in a trap, but he responded anyway, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his bag.  
> "Tomorrow, after work, your place." ~

Alexander's eyes widened, his breath being knocked out with the realization he had just managed. He parted his lips to speak, to deny, to explain, to /anything/ - but John simply continued, placing his free hand next to Alexander's head, palm flat against the door as he continued to read.  
"You're such a slut. You know that, yeah? You need a fuck so badly, that you resort to your political enemy. Maybe I should leave you on my doorstep. Oooh, or I could drag it out. Make you wait until the next day, meet me in my office. Actually? Nevermind. I don't want your ugly ass soiling the beauty that is my office."  
With the next part, Laurens set Alexander's phone down, keeping eye contact with the immigrant's hazel eyes when he spoke -  
"See you tonight."

Alexander once again opened his mouth to speak, almost having a word escape his lips, before a sharp slap to the face halted the decision, a whine instead breaking down in his throat, causing him to close his mouth.  
"Jefferson really is right, you know. You're nothing but an ugly, useless slut. And you know that, don't you? God, how pathetic."  
Laurens narrowed his eyes when he spoke, pausing for a moment to allow a response from Alexander, who simply nodded, blinking back a wetness in his eyes.  
"J-John, please, I d-didn't know-"  
Before Alexander could finish speaking, there was a hand in his hair, pulling with a sharp and painful movement, slamming Alexander's head against the door behind him.  
"Shut /up/! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"  
With each and every repetition of the words, John slammed Alexander's head against the door, again and again, each hit harder than the last. With his final one, he let go of the Immigrants hair, leaving him to quickly fall limply to the floor, undoubtedly losing consciousness.

"Stupid bitch."  
Laurens muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes and kicking at the seemingly lifeless body before once again grabbing Alexander's phone, calling an ambulance for the fucker in front of him. Really, he had no care as to if he lived or not, or if he was damaged or not.  
However, John was not about to get arrested for Alexander Hamilton's murder, and have to spend the rest of his life in jail.  
Besides, the immigrant was a source of entertainment for him. He wouldn't want to break his favourite toy, now would he?


	13. White Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander counts his own silence, and a situation settles down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Hospital, mentions of abuse, head injury, cops  
> Guess who's sick and can't go to school!! (meeeeee--)  
> i have a feeling its a stressed induced fever, but like, oh well? im taking the free time to write this sooo  
> this is inspired by my friend Harleigh, who gave me ideas for the chapter (in which im using). thank babe ily <<<<<<33333  
> hope you enjoy!

Alexander had ideas of where he was before he even bothered to open his eyes, before he decided to stir and allow the rest of his body to wake up, before he decided to show whomever in the room with him that he was awake. The bright lights, burning into Alexander's eyelids, were a heavy hint as to where his new location may be. They basked Alexander's eyelids in white instead of red, which normal bright lights would do, and had him squinting even with his eyes closed. The second biggest hint he had, was everything he was currently hearing. He heard a muttering of words beside him - two voices, he had decided, perhaps in a conversation -, he heard crying down the hall, and he heard the familiar beeping of a machine he couldn't quite place. 

When he had finally assumed his place of stay, he shifted slightly in the surprisingly comfortable sheets of the surprisingly uncomfortable bed, quieting the voices next to him. Maybe it hadn't been the most in-depth conversation, at all. Or, maybe it had, though staring Alexander as the main topic of speech. It didn't matter, for now. It's not like he was going to ask whoever was speaking, anyway. He allowed his eyes to flutter open, only for them to instantly turn to a quint, the completely white room almost as bad as the lights built into the ceiling. Alexander liked the colour white just as much as the other guy, but no building needed so much of it in such a small room. He now shifted to sit up on the bed, pulling the rather warm blankets up with him, before slowly willing his eyes to fully open after a few blinks, glancing around.

A hospital room. His assumption was right. Though, with a bit of a foggy memory as to why, the extent of what he remembered being him at home, he couldn't quite back up why his mind had instantly gone to the building. There wasn't anything unusual to the room, other than a small card on the cabinet that made Alexander crack a small smile, the majority of it seemingly untouched, and abandoned. He looked to his left, where he had heard the voices, and his smile turned to a small frown at the sight. It wasn't one he had seen before, everything else about the situation having been familiar, which caused a small drop of anxiety to fill through his blood, moving all throughout him. It was a cop, complete with uniform, mace, handcuffs and all else that he had owned, speaking to none other than Thomas Jefferson, messy hair, tank top and sweatpants, as if he rushed to arrive. While Jefferson appeared stressed, and god exhausted, the officer was more.. Well, Alexander couldn't quite place it. He was more calm, however refined, elegant in broad movements, sure of what he did. His movement, where and why he moved, had purpose. It had meaning. 

However, when Alexander cleared his throat, both of the men turned to look towards the immigrant, the officer with a raised brow and Jefferson with a fallen expression, silencing the discussion they were previously busying themselves with. Alexander took that moment to glance down to the pad and pen the officer was holding, his frown deepening, before he looked back up to study their expressions more. Alexander couldn't read what the man had written from where he stood, being practically blind without his glasses, so he didn't bother straining himself, instead glancing away before he spoke.  
"So, I'm in the hospital."  
He could hear a scoff, and looked back to see Jefferson running a hand down his face, an amused grin playing on his lips. Alexander had to say, he was glad that at least /someone/ found amusement in the situation, because he sure as hell didn't.

"Usually, a blow to the head can result in a temporary condition equivalent to 'knock out' that just lasts for a half a second or so. The effect is a white flash or black flash in the recipient's field of vision and they can't take any action requiring vision and decision for a period of about one second. A much harder blow results in a taste like battery acid in the mouth. So, a hard blow overloads sensory input and prevents action for a short period of time. Harder blows than that result in a complete loss of consciousness. Surprisingly, you had gon' through a real hard hit to be here. I'm surprised the ass could even hit that hard."

Alexander had gotten lost along the way while Jefferson spoke, blanking out for a moment. He wasn't quite expected to be put through a medical lecture, at least not one that sounded so pristine - at least, not one from Jefferson - but he couldn't help being slightly impressed. Nothing he would openly say, of course. When the Virginian was finished, Alexander raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms behind his head.  
"What are you even talking about, 'a blow to the head'? What happened?"  
Jefferson stayed silent for a moment, slightly widened eyes displaying something along the lines of disapproval, disbelief, and surprise. He quickly narrowed them, though, easily overriding the previous expression that might have been used against him.  
"You're abusive fuckin' boyfriend knocked you out, you fuck."

Alexander stayed silent for a moment, his eyes now taking turn to widen, as he glanced over to the office, who was busy writing something in the godforsaken notepad. Alexander had decided that he hated that thing, knowing that it must be incriminating statements. What else would a police officer write down, while somebody was just accused of abusing their now bed-ridden boyfriend? It's not like he was writing down what food he needed to buy for tonight's dinner. It was obvious. Alexander's glance turned back to Jefferson, eyes narrowing into a glare when it did, the shorter immigrant taking little to no time to hiss out his words. Speech has always been his greatest talent, and even if he was condemned to silence the rest of his life, he was going to say whatever the fuck he wanted to say at this point.  
"You know what? Fuck you, alright? You know nothing about me, nor do you know anything about Laurens, nor do you know anything about our relationship. He's not fucking /abusive/. It's not my fault you've always lived in a perfect world with the perfect life and been associated with the perfect people. Grow the /fuck/ up and realize that people aren't always-"

Alexander's ramblings were cut short with the cops voice finally cutting through the air, silencing the immigrants' words. Alexander decided that he was afraid of this man, and the power he holds. The power he /has/ to hold. Nobody, with such a bite to their tone, with such a gravely voice, tired demeanour, and strong stand has little to no power.  
"Laurens? Can you assure that your significant other's name is John Laurens?"  
Alexander bit his tongue, his glare now shifting to the cop, however falling when he saw the mans expression. It was pitying. Alexander was being pitied. And now, he felt smaller than ever, like an ant compared to the two men he was next to. Alexander swallowed, thinking of what exactly he was supposed to do here, before shaking his head.  
"I plead the fourth."

"You mean the fifth?"  
"...Yeah, that."

The response received a small groan from the officer, who's glance now turned to the Virginian in the room, as well as Alexander's had, taking the time to fully study the man. He looked like a god-awful mess. He didn't bother on dressing to impress, which he usually takes an hour every day to do. His hair was unruly, as if he just woke up and left without taking time to do anything for it. The circles under his eyes challenged Alexander's, and his worn out stance completely washed away Alexander's previous memories of his usual confident stride and build.  
"Can /you assure that the man accused is named John Laurens?"  
Jefferson took no time to nod, hesitating in his step for a moment before glancing back at Hamilton - who was now staring dejectedly at his hands - before looking back at the officer.  
"Yes. There's plenty of evidence to support that claim, as broad as it is, as well."  
"And you're the only one Hamilton is in further contact with?"  
"He has nobody else on his phone, so I'm assuming yes."  
"Alright. Seeing as though the next process is to take said John into custody for interrogation, and Hamilton can't be by himself in living conditions because of his head injury, he's going to have to remain under your watch for the time being. Is there any issue with that planning?"

Thomas hesitated for a moment, eyes widening slightly from the information. He should have said Ale- Hamilton spoke to other people. He should have said he didn't know the immigrant at all. He shouldn't even be here.  
"No. There's no issue."  
"Great. Sign the papers, and he'll be let out."

Fuck.


	14. Fire's Cold to The Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander wants to work and Jefferson is disallowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day? on a WEEKDAY? ive lost my mind.  
> well, i have nothing better to do, and ideas are running through my mind like water from an open faucet, so im not gonna bother stopping it.  
> hope you enjoy!  
> (I'm going to start using sentences to go through with each chapter, so here's todays sentence - )  
> "He did his best to help him."  
> (also lowkey filler lol sorry)

Alexander was not happy. About any of this. How could he possibly be happy, when his boyfriend was shoved away in some jail for interrogations, Alexander had to find a lawyer to go to court with, and he had to bunk it with Jefferson all the while? None of the situation was anything Hamilton would have prefered. Though, he might as well be grateful for one thing - the fact that he now remembered what got him into this mess, exactly what had happened. He remembered his lacking breath, disappearing with every sentence his lover had said, or read, off of his damned phone. He remembered the taste of battery acid just before he had fallen unconscious, the accent yells drumming through his ears and silencing the painful heartbeats that originally lay there. He remembered a firey hot hand digging into his scalp, the feeling of rough, cold wood as he was smashed against it. He remembered it all, and most importantly, what had started it.

It was Alexander's fault, and it was Jefferson's fault, but it sure as hell wasn't Laurens's fault. It wasn't John's fault that Alexander had been unfaithful, and untrustable. It wasn't his fault that Alexander was always dissatisfied, always craving more, always yearning for something he couldn't have. And, it was Alexander's fault that he was stupid enough to do it, even more so, get caught. He could have at least deleted the messages or deleted Thomas's contact. There was so much he could have done, so much that could have stopped Laurens from being upset with him, but he did none of it. He pushed his boyfriend to the brink - of course he was going to get a punishment. He didn't know why it was such a big deal. He didn't understand why Jefferson, why the officer, why anybody had seen it as anything more than that. It wasn't abuse. Alexander knew the definition, he was a word geek. "Treat a person or an animal with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly." It wasn't.. It wasn't regular. It wasn't repeated. It was just on occasion.

"You look exhausted, just go the fuck to sleep. We're nowhere near there, yet. 'Ve got a good hour."  
An accented voice dragged Alexander out of his thoughts, having him looking over and blinking at the taller male who was driving, the sight bringing a scoff from his lips. He shut his eyes, before shaking his head, leaning against the car door. He had to admit, he hated Jefferson's car. It was a black Koenigsegg One:1, far too expensive and showy for anything that should be driven on the road. It looked like it belonged in GTA 5, not the streets of New York. The inside was overtly comfortable, proper heating system, good radio, and nice seats. It was perfect. It was Jefferson. So, Alexander hated it.  
"Take me to the office."  
Alexander's words were a scoff on their own, practically a hiss if he wasn't so worn out. Physically and mentally, though he had no reason to be either. At this point, he was even pitying himself, which was pathetically disgusting in his own right.

"Your office? Why?"  
"To work, dumbass."  
"Holy fuck, Hamilton, you just got out of the fucking hospital. I'm not taking you to work."

Alexander opened his eyes just to glare at the Virginian, it being weaker than he would have prefered. He only knew so from Jefferson's amused chuckle when he glanced over to see it, matching Alexander with an eye roll before looking back towards the road. The laugh sparked something inside of Alexander that he couldn't place. Well, even if he could, he wouldn't bother, deeming it as unadulterated loathing or irritation. Seriously, who laughs at a glare? That was just fucked up. Alexander huffed, shutting his eyes again and shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable, curling in on himself. They fucked a few times, and now Alexander was going to have to live for him for possibly a few days. Hopefully not longer. Great.  
"I don't care if I just got out of the fucking hospital, I don't need you telling me what to do and where to do. I'm not a fucking Barbie doll, you can't control me."  
"You're as small as a Barbie doll."  
The insult brought a heat to Alexander's face, as he scoffed, not even bothered to shoot back at the fucker. He was right about something - Alexander was exhausted.  
"Fuck off."

Once again, he was met with a chuckle, less amused and more relaxed. Once again, he was met with the same ball of emotion pinking at his rib cage, begging above all else to be let free. It was like the anxious feeling you get just before a public speaking assignment, or just before you're about to go on stage. If Alexander were dense enough, he would call it butterflies in his stomach. Though, that usually associated with love or excitement - and if Alexander knew anything, he knew that those were nothing of what he was feeling. He prayed that those two were nothing of what he was feeling.  
"Just take me to my office."  
"God, Hamilton, no."  
"Why the hell not?"  
"You're fucked up! You need rest and shit! You just got out o the fuckin' hospital, for Christ's sake!"  
"Why the hell do /you/ care?"  
"I don't, I just don't want you fucking dying. I would be the first person they look for."  
"Just take me to work."  
"I'm taking you home."  
"Jefferson, fucking-"  
"No."  
"You're just-"  
"Nope."  
The next two parts, they had yelled in unison - "I fucking hate you!" - "I'm doing my best to help you!"

The mixed yelling sparked a sense of confusion for the both at the moment, before figuring out what the other had said, and having the expression fall to a bitter silence. Alexander, frustrated and swallowing down a lump in his throat that always came from when he was mad, and Jefferson, irritated and gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. It was quite the contrast, what they had managed to say at the same time. Not two sentences you would usually find together. Alexander huddled closer to the door of the vehicle, hugging his knees close to himself and resting his chin on top of them, his eyes being squeezed shut. He fell asleep shortly after, neither of the men being bothered to keep up a conversation.

When Jefferson had pulled into the parking lot of where he lived, and glanced over at a still sleeping Hamilton, he sighed, biting back a small smile, before getting out, rounding over to his side. He gingerly picked the smaller male up, careful not to wake him, before shutting the car door shut with his foot, finding his way inside. When he had, he made his way to his bedroom, tucking Alexander in and shutting the lights off, closing the door behind him and making his way downstairs, deciding to sleep on the couch.

He didn't lie, with what he had said. He's doing his best to help the immigrant.


	15. Double Sided Misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander wants Jefferson to not be mad, and Jefferson just wants Alexander to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyheyhye its yo boi  
> ive got an issue! so, my laptop is b r o k e n , and i cant use it anymore.  
> fun.  
> so, now im using my school laptop to post and stuff. I don't have grammarly, what i type in, because i can't download anything on it, but i have word. hopefully, that'll be able to keep word count and correct my grammar for me.  
> im really sorry, im hoping to get this resolved as quickly as i can. if this chapter is shorter than usual, or than needed be, i might post twice in one day. im not sure.  
> sorry guys. on that note, i hope you like this chapter!  
> sentence:  
> "To his horror, he realized he'd been this way before."

When Alexander woke up in the morning, so energized he could have been sleeping for a few days, he was less groggy than he would have liked to admit. More than he would have liked to be true. Grogginess always meant loss of sleep, in a way. If Alexander got bad sleep the night before, then he was groggy, and needed a cup of coffee. If he was awake and cutely sharp without his cup, then he slept too much. He didn’t deserve to sleep too much, nor should he even if he did. Sleep meant loss time, time that could have been spend doing so much more. Writing, arguing, speaking, enlightening others. Anything, everything. Everything physically possible, that Hamilton might have possibly been able to see himself doing, could be done while he was asleep. Besides, why erase a good five, six hours from your life when you could gather the same amount of energy from a decent meal and a large cup of coffee. – Valid, he barely provides himself the former of the two, but even still, his point stands. He wished he was in an awful mood. He wished the soft, golden light seeping through from the shut blinds from the window were more irritating to his sore, blinked open eyes. He wished the silent sound of a soft breeze from outside the window, the faint chirping of a familiar bird that must have been a Robin, was more frustrating to his ears that pleaded nothing more than silence.

And even yet, though, it didn’t matter. What he /wanted/ to feel wasn’t the same of what he /did/ feel, as much as he would love to confuse the two. Technically, he should have difficulty mixing them at the current time and situation, seeing as though he’s been doing it the rest of his life – the rest of his life with Laurens – but, yet, the heaviness of his eyelids and the stretch of his mouth when a yawn broke through seemed to distract him from doing so at the time. And, though, with these thoughts that lacked any importance continued to seep in and out his mind, volume and intensity of them scooping up and down like an unsteady rollercoaster, the main idea was his sudden biting hunger that he hadn’t seemed to place before, the harsh growl of his stomach ringing in his ears as if it was the loudest thing in the world. So, despite wanting to stay wrapped in the comfortable confinement of the bed, swallowed in blankets and sheets alike and allowing himself to once again drift away to a state of unconscious, he willed himself up and out of the bed, lazily making it before shifting to stand in front of the closet. It didn’t really matter what he wore, this Alexander knew – all of it was too big on him, anyway. It was like forcing a toddler into a grown man’s suit. Besides, the back of his mind screamed that the cloth would be ripped from his body early on in the night anyway, so he didn’t have to do too in depth with why he chose what he did. Still, though, he willed that away, instead choosing a deep purple sweatshirt and black sweatpants. 

He had to debate whether he should perform basic human necessities, like clean himself up or not, in all honesty. His mind was a bit like a switch that he couldn’t seem to control, and it had the same filter that his mouth did. None. So, for one second it would scream without hesitance about how nothing was going to change and he /deserved/ to be hurt and he didn’t need to bother doing anything for himself before, god, everything was going to happen again. He wasn’t worth the water bills, he wasn’t worth the expense of shampoo or bodywash, he wasn’t worth the softness of expensive towels imported from France. Though, the other side of his mind spoke in soft tones, hesitant voices, completely unlike the one of opposite nature. It told him how it was going to be alright, and how he should get washed up, how he could possibly get ill if he didn’t. How the warm water down his back would sooth him, the shampoo digging in his roots wouldn’t force him to violently pull out tangles from his dark strands of hair, the bodywash would soften his skin and relax him. And, though that portion of his mind was much quieter, much softer with it’s words and thoughts, it won. Alexander only figured that out when he felt the warm water running down his front, beading in his eyelashes, washing soap suds out from his hair and off from his shoulders. 

It was a daze, all of Alexander’s actions other than when he had to make decisions, other than when something like a voice of a feeling knocked him out of the haze that seemed to run over his eyes and mind. Like the same steam that was stuck on the mirror after Alexander’s shower, it blinded Alexander from anything he had gone through before trudging downstairs. Alexander wasn’t terribly sure why, either. Like mentioned before, it was like a switch. As soon as he had gotten back from that damn hospital, been parted from damn Laurens, and been stuck with damn Jefferson, had he blocked everything and anything else from his mind. He didn’t know why he had done that. Maybe it was a sort of recovery plan that he had silently willed himself to go through, maybe not. Maybe it was to spite himself, loud Alexander Hamilton who never shut up, never took a break from thinking or speaking. It didn’t matter, nevertheless. The fog seemed to leave when he found himself at the bottom of the stairs, fists rubbing into his eyes to get the sleep out of them, a certain aforementioned Virginian sitting in the couch within his view. The visual hit something in Alexander that he doubted he should be feeling, that he doubted should even be a thing in general.   
It reminded him of when he had first met John, loving strokes and soft kisses displaying nothing but a sense of innocence that even a bystander wouldn’t be able to pin him to, to this day.

“Awake?”   
Alexander jumped slightly when he actually heard the accented voice shift and cut through the original silence, still feeling like a hot steak knife even despite its unusually soft approach, calm tone, hesitant carry. Alexander blinked at the other for a few moments, before nodding, shuffling to walk further, into the kitchen. Honestly, he preferred if he didn’t. He liked the sight he was greeted with more than he would like attempting to find a box of cereal. A shirtless Jefferson with unruly hair, glasses, a cup of steaming tea and a book was better than a colorful, overly saturated box of Lucky Charms. Though, that didn’t really have to mean anything. Alexander wasn’t like, he could appreatiate a good sight when he saw one. Even when he hated the man who /was/ the sight. Alexander cleared his throat to speak, pouring the cereal in the bowl.

“The morning was surprisingly serene. I must have been asleep for a while.”  
“Two days.”  
“Damn.”  
Alexander let out a heavy breath, not bothering with milk before grabbing a spoon and digging it into the bowl, taking a bite. It was surprisingly good. Alexander seemed to prefer fake, processed marshmallows to real ones in this occasion. Valid, it’s been a while since he’s had either. He now shuffled out of the kitchen, back to the living room, chewing and swallowing down the bite he had taken. His eyebrow was slightly cocked from the news he was given.  
“No wonder I feel so well rested, it’s awful.”  
“Lucky Charms?”  
Thom- Jefferson nodded towards the bowl Alexander held in his hand, a slightly amused expression riding over his face. Alexander nodded, shifting slightly in his spot. As confused, and worried, it made Alexander, Thomas’s expression suddenly changed from amusement to something.. Something Alexander couldn’t place. Something harder.

“You really shouldn’t be eating that.”  
Alexander paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow and taking in what Thomas had said. Once again, his undeniable mind-fuzz was back, though a far different one from the one he had beforehand. It was more.. Situational, if that was the right word. Alexander chewed on his bottom lip, once again shifting in his spot, all the weight on his left foot now being placed on his right.  
“I-I’m sorry, what?”  
“You shouldn’t be eating that. I forgot to get rid of it, it’s expir-“  
“I’m sorry.”  
Thomas was surprised by the sudden apology, the sudden form of Hamilton backing down that he was still unfamiliar with. He couldn’t even tell himself why Alexander was backing down, anyway. There wasn’t anything to back away from, nor was there anything to apologize for. Thomas shook his head, setting his book down to stand up.  
“Why are you sorry? It’s not-“  
“P-Please, don’t hit me. I’ll do anything, I-I swear, just.. Please, don’t.”  
The waver in Alexander’s voice broke his heart, and that’s all Thomas could say about how he felt. That’s all he could explain, all that he’s felt before. With the rest, he was as inexperienced as he was with Alexander living with him in general. He could feel the crack, though, the familiarity of it. He wanted to fix it instantly, though not even knowing what there was to fix.

By the time Thomas parted his lips to speak, he was cut off with chapped lips against his own, a slow movement contradicting how their past shared contact might have been. It was nothing like the fervent, hot, quick and burning kisses they shared, nothing like the quick and sharp exchanges of contact. It was slow, steady, loving and careful. It was still deep on its own, though, as shown by Alexander’s hands now fidgeting with the hem of Thomas’s shirt, close to taking it off. Thomas pulled away, a harsh breath escaping his lips as he furrowed his eyebrows.  
“Alexander, no.”  
“Please, sir.”  
The nickname caused Thomas to choke for a moment, his face heating ever so slightly. Yes, he was used to it, due to clear power dynamics in bed. And yet, still, he hated how it sounded on Alexander’s tongue now, hated the situation. It was like Alexander was trying to fuck him just because he thought he was in trouble.  
As if he needed to do it to keep Thomas happy. To keep away from punishment.  
“We really shouldn’t-“  
“I want you, sir.”  
“No, you don’t, this isn’t-“  
“Please?”  
“Alexander, I’m not upset with you. You don’t need to fuck me to get out of a nonexistent punishment. I’m.. I’m not John.”

Hearing this from the other caused Alexander to pause, his fidgeting hands coming to a rest. It was as if he had only just now grown back inside his body, his mind having been elsewhere for the time being. There was a sudden ringing in his ear when, to his horror, he realized he had been this way before, having to whore himself out to avoid somebody being upset with him. Alexander blinked away a burn in his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips even then. It didn’t matter if he didn’t want this. Clearly, Thomas did. And even then, it would stop the other from being upset with him.  
“I know.”  
And, when Alexander leaned in to connect their lips again, past passion and fire being brought back, erasing the care of the original exchange? Thomas tried to let his hesitance ease away, eventually finding success when he felt Alexander’s legs around his waist, him carrying the shorter male to his master bedroom.


	16. Flowered Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is bleeding and shocked. Thomas is frustrated and scared for the immigrant. John is faking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - rape, rope/bondage, handcuffs, lingere, gag  
> im sorry lmao  
> Hope you enjoy!  
> "His voice had never sounded so cold."  
> []holy fuck guys 2914 words im shook)

It was funny, how easily something could change. Alexander remembered his last awakening to be peaceful, serene, something he wouldn’t mind actually having every morning. Hey, if he were to have a decent waking-up experience, wouldn’t he have to go to sleep to do so? Perhaps. Even still, this morning was far different. (Technically, it shouldn’t even be called a morning. It was well into the afternoon now, do you really expect them to sleep through the entire day?) Alexander could tell that he wasn’t even supposed to wake up at the time, the only thing waking him up being the sudden burn in his throat, a built up pressure that’s common in sickness. Alexander coughed into his hand, it being more of a hack than anything, as if he was some sort of smoker hacking out a lung. He had to squint to notice the discoloration on his hand, his fuzzy eyes not doing much good for him when it comes to literally anything. God, he needed coffee. After a moment of sporadic blinking, he finally noticed that the discoloration was a new blotch of red, almost directly in the palm of his hand. He cocked an eyebrow, bringing his other hand over to wipe at the liquid with his ring finger. Blood. Alexander paused for a moment, allowing it to actually register in his mind, before stumbling out of bed, walking around it to shake at Thomas’s shoulders, of whom was still asleep.

If he were to be honest, he was terrified. He didn’t know what coughing up blood meant, he never had internal bleeding. Well, he had once, but that was a while ago. And, even then, it was caused by something physical. An attack, a stab. He remembered that. However, this felt different. Nothing happened last night, other than them having sex. And even then, it wasn’t any rougher than usual. Something felt different. Something felt wrong. Which, is what was having a shiver rush down Alexander’s spine, its own form of terror. Its own /proof/ of terror. Other than the scratchiness of his throat, the only other thing he could even think of being a correlation was a burning sensation in his heart, probably from the expired Lucky Charms. Which, was why he was now shaking the Virginian in front of him so much quicker, with wanton disregard of waking the other up or not causing pain.

“Jefferson.”  
Alexander’s voice had easily escaped his lips as a sort of hiss than anything else, nothing relating to a sickening anxiety showing in his tone. If anything, it must have seemed like he was irritated with the other, for no apparent cause. Of course, it’s not something that was unusual, but Alexander wished for once that his voice would actually display what he wanted it to when Thomas swatted him away, a deep groan leaving his lips.  
“Mm, fuck off. Y’aint wakin’ me up for seconds.”  
Alexander scoffed, rolling his eyes. Of course Thomas would think this was about sex. Though, in all honesty, it wasn’t like he was surprised. Alexander was perfectly aware that sex was all he was good for, everything in his life had pointed towards that. Nevertheless, that wasn’t quite the matter. Alexander hummed, now shifting to sit in the others lap.  
“I’m scared, I need your help.”

With that, and to Alexander’s surprise, Thomas actually got up, a look of unadulterated concern written over his face. Alexander was sure he knew what was running through the taller male’s mind – at least, he had enough of an idea. It didn’t take a genius to put the dots together, and even if it did, Alexander wasn’t an idiot – as much as he loved to preach. Jefferson let a small sigh grace from his lips, a palm running their way into his eyes in an attempt to rub the sleep out of them. The sight caused a small, hopeless smile to play on Alexander’s lips. He felt a sort of fluttering in his stomach, before he coughed again, into his fist this time. When he drew back, he was once again greeted with the red hue, and it didn’t take long before he heard a soft gasp from another mouth that wasn’t his own. He looked up at Thomas, his own eyes wide and slightly glossy because, shit, was he going to die? Was this his due date? Alexander parted his lips to speak, but by then, his hands were already engulfed in a larger pair and being pulled away for inspection.

“Internal bleeding.”  
For once, it wasn’t Alexander’s voice that was faint, and instead it was the Virginian’s, studying something about Alexander’s hands that not even Alexander could place. While Thomas was busy studying Alexander’s hands, the smaller male took this moment to study the Virginian’s appearance. His eyes were clearly still weighed down from sleep, a small tilt to the edges displaying the yearning for them to close once again. He had dark under eyes, but they weren’t anything out of the ordinary, nothing Alexander should be especially afraid for. His hair was a mess of curls on his head, moving to every direction that was even plausible, a lovely shine from the now setting sun raking its way through the deep brown. His full lips were pulled into a small frown, his top teeth biting on his lower lip in a worried manner. Those damn kissable lips. Alexander looked back down to his hands, opening his mouth to speak, before the taller male beat him to it once again.  
“It’s- it’s usually caused by trauma, broken bones, pregnancy-“ The thought of Alexander being pregnant brought a small giggle from the short male’s lips, which caused Thomas’s frown to turn into a small smile, “surgery, alcohol, or medication. Any of that?” Thomas now looked up at Alexander, a cocked eyebrow causing curiosity to run over his features. His eyes didn’t look as tired anymore, which Alexander deemed as a good thing.  
“Trauma and broken bones, yeah. But- but not recently. Do you think-“  
“Laurens.”  
“You know his name?”

Alexander’s question caused Thomas to shake his head, picking the immigrant up and shifting him from his lap to stand up. He threw a shirt on, in which caused Alexander to frown, now throwing on boxers and a pair of black jeans.  
“Of course I know his fuckin’ name, I learned it at the hospital. The asshole’s causin’ you to fuckin’.. Bleed, internally. You could go into shock or somethin’. You could /die/. We need to get help.”  
Now, Thomas was standing in front of the mirror, raking a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm it from the mess of curls and waves that it was when he had first woken up. It seemed that he slipped his shoes on in a blink of Alexander’s eyes, while Alexander was still sitting naked in bed. The immigrant’s eyes blew wide when he heard about getting help, before he shook his head.  
“N-No, we can’t.” Thomas had cocked an eyebrow at Alexander’s stutter, of which Alexander could only see from his reflection, before the taller male shook his head and slipped some sunglasses on, already completely ready to go. Completely ready to go, to god knows where, and god knows when. Sometimes, Alexander wished he could at least have a warning about these things. That would make life easier.  
“Why not? You could fuckin’ die!”  
“B-Because then he’ll get in more trouble a-and he’ll be put in jail and he’s /already/ having to testify, this will ruin him.”

Thomas paused, a scoff escaping his lips and ringing through Alexander’s ears. He finally turned around to look at Alexander, and it was clear that Alexander had said something wrong with the way his eyebrows furrowed, his features hardened, his jaw seemed set. Thomas shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the bedside table as if Alexander had just spewed the more ridiculous, the most idiotic opinion in the world. Which, he knew he hadn’t. Then again, if he didn’t tread lightly from this point on, he would probably face punishment. Of which kind, Alexander wasn’t sure, but he knew it was going to be something. Anything that provided him pain.  
“And you don’t /want/ him put to jail?”  
“N-No! I don’t!”  
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re an idiot.”  
“I.. I know, b-but.. still. He didn’t do anything, h-he doesn’t deserve this.”  
“He abuses you! He sent you into a fuckin’ concussion and now you can’t do any work!”  
“Y-You’re jealous.”  
With Alexander’s last part, there was a ring of silence as he got up and began getting dressed, throwing on the T-shirt he was wearing previously and his boxers. He continued speaking as he now put shorts on.  
“Y-You’re jealous that.. That you’ll never find a-anybody who loves you like John loves me. Like I love him. Y-You’re jealous that all you can get is a fuck o-on the side from your political enemy.” His last part sent a spike of pain through his body, near his ribs, but he ignored it. He also attempted to ignore Thomas’s expression, not terribly unlike a wounded dog it’s owner had just kicked.  
“Alexander..”  
“I’m leaving.”  
Alexander swallowed down, grabbing his phone that he had learned to hate and slipping it into his pockets. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two, before Thomas shook his head, wiping away the look of disbelief and pain to instead write indifference and irritation, a look Alexander was perfectly familiar with.

“Can’t. You’re not allowed. I ain’t letting you, either.”  
“You’re not a-allowed to tell me what I can or can’t f-fucking do, I’m not your bitch.”  
“And John can?”  
Thomas’s words brought another slide of silence between the two men, a hurt expression now wiping over Alexander’s face. And, Thomas already wished he could take it back. He wished he could take it back, hold the immigrant in his arms and tell him that he didn’t mean it. Or tell him that he’d be able to make things better for the shorter male, that everything will be okay. Heat up some food and watch a movie. Anything. However, by the time he was muttering Alexander’s name in what he hoped would start an apology, he already heard the front door slam, and it was too late.

 

Alexander didn’t bother getting a taxi or Uber, as he never seems to do. Really, he should have learned by now that he couldn’t keep walking everywhere without a proper mode of transportation. However, until that day comes, he’s stuck with aching feet and a permanent shiver shifting down his spine, arms and legs. He couldn’t remember a time he was more glad to see his house than now, wiping away streaks of wetness that made their way onto his cheeks while Alexander actually had time to think. Think about what he said, what he did, who he had just hurt and why he did it. Why did he do it? He wasn’t sure. Alexander felt one last shiver move down his spine as he dug in his pockets to get his keys, groaning when he realized they weren’t there. Of course. He tried the doorknob, and grinned when it actually opened, sliding the door open and shuffling inside as if he were exhausted. Which, he wasn’t, but he might as well be. The first thing he was greeted with was the smell of something burning, some sort of scent that Alexander later noted to be a vanilla candle. The lights were slightly dim, and there was a sort of music playing in the background that Alexander couldn’t hear.  
He didn’t remember any of this before he left. Somebody was in the house. Nobody was supposed to be in the house.  
Though, by the time he locked the door again, he was greeted with the sight of John, a grin on his face as he hung in the doorway. The sight left Alexander breathless, only for the fact that god, there was John. John wasn’t supposed to /be/ there. John was supposed to be in a cell as he waited out his court case.  
“I missed you.”

Alexander blinked for a few moments when he heard the other’s voice, before letting a small, albeit shaky smile rest on his lips, Alexander shoving his slightly shaky hands in his pockets. He couldn’t explain the sudden coldness in his body even if he were begged to. The house was actually rather warm, and Laurens seemed to be in a good mood today, even if Alexander knew that would change. The freckled boy took a step closer to Alexander, as if testing the waters. And, when Hamilton didn’t step back, he closed the distance between the two, connecting their lips and wrapping his arms around the immigrant’s waist.  
It wasn’t loving, in any way. It was cold, demanding. Quick, and eager. It had passion, it had lust, but never did it have an ounce of love. Alexander just wished he could feel loved again.  
When John pulled away, Alexander had to gasp for breath, not expecting a sudden makeout in any way. However, while he was doing so, his hand was already being tightly gripped – so hard, it caused a small yelp to escape from Alexander’s lips – Alexander now being walked into the bedroom. Of course, like he had pointed to beforehand, he could now see the candles for what they were, decorated around the room. It was a rather pretty sight, one that wouldn’t look out of place In a romantic novel.  
“I bought something for you.”

Laurens’s voice, once again, rung in Alexander’s ear, John letting go from the shorter male’s hand to walk towards the bed, picking up what seemed to be a heap of lace and walking back over to Alexander, placing it in his hands. When Alexander finally managed to see what it was, it didn’t take long for his face to heat up like the flames of the surrounding candles, him looking up at John.  
“I- I don’t think.. I don’t think I’m comfortable wearing this. It’s- It’s a bit revealing, don’t you think?”  
The original smile from John’s face was gone as he shook his head, reaching forward to grab Alexander’s jaw, leaning forward. As Alexander had predicted, his mood had instantly changed, something Alexander wasn’t sure why he was so surprised about.  
“It doesn’t matter if it’s revealing, you’re going to end up showing your body out for me anyway. You’re nothing but a worthless fucking whore, it doesn’t matter what you wear or how much it shows. Now, don’t waste my money and put on the fucking outfit, or your punishment will be worse.”

Alexander nodded wordlessly, biting down on his bottom lip when he felt a glaze of wetness roll over his eyes. When he did so, John grinned, leaning down to plant a small kiss on Alexander’s lips before letting go of him, ushering the other into the bathroom.  
Alexander was right about what he had thought before he put the outfit on. It was far too revealing. First of all, was his lacy black stockings that connected to a sort of garter belt, wearing nothing but a bow to conceal his member. He was also put in a black, lacy bra, of which he couldn’t help but feel humiliated in. When he came back out of the bathroom, Laurens was sitting on the bed, his pants and boxers already off. When he caught sight of Alexander, his original grin grew, a soft hum escaping his lips.  
“Well, aren’t you a good little slut?”  
Alexander let a whimper leave his lips when he saw John give himself a few pumps, before he stood up and moved over to Alexander, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“Get on the bed.”  
“J-John, please, I don’t-“  
Alexander’s words caused a harsh slap to be delivered to his face, causing him to cry out.  
“Don’t call me that.”  
His voice had never sounded more.. Cold. It only caused Alexander more panic.  
“S-Sir, please, I don’t want t-this-“  
John finally groaned, rolling his eyes, before getting a fistful of Alexander’s hair and yanking him forward, causing Alexander to stumble slightly. He let out another cry as he was dragged to the bed, thrown onto the top with reckless abandon. And then, John was strattling him, lips connected in a kiss with bruising power as his hands reached up to Alexander’s and handcuffed them to the headboard of the bed with a handcuff that Alexander couldn’t even see beforehand.

When John pulled away, Alexander let a sob escape his lips, flailing around in an attempt to break away from the bond he now found himself put into, his head shaking.  
“N-No, please, s-sir, don’t-“  
Though, by then, Alexander was cut off when he felt a firm ball of metal enter his mouth, the gag being tied In the back of his head. Alexander let another shaky sob leave his lips, though at that point it was muffled, and no matter how hard he kicked, he still found his ankles being tied together, rendering him useless to any movement or speech that he might have even thought about committing.  
Though, for the rest of the night, it didn’t matter, as Alexander found himself numbed and dazed throughout the entire time, practically serving as a lifeless doll at that point.


	17. Just Like a Ghost To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disappearance, and a plead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAA IM SORRY I HAVENT POSTED IN S O L O N G  
> I HAVE SOLS AND EXAMS AND SHIT AND SCHOOL AND LACK OF MOTIVATION AND ERP93J[GO2OI IM SORRY  
> I STILL LOVE YOU GUYS THOUGH I PROMISE  
> IM SORRY  
> THIS IS KINDA FILLER BUT I WANTED TO POST SO AA  
> THE TITLE IS FROM LE MES RIP LOL  
> "There had been theories on how the man was murdered."

Alexander hadn’t been to work in a week.

It was worrying, to say the least. Alexander Hamilton, the man whom never missed a day of work, skipping precious hours of what could have been sleep just to pile in more papers, more writings, more work in general. Alexander Hamilton, the man who was nothing without his pen or biting words, able to create flowery scenery from nothing but old parchment and wet ink. Alexander Hamilton, the man who had replaced his blood stream with bitter and cheap coffee, who had worked himself into stress induced fevers more than five times, who had argued more than once about his work being the only good part of him. Alexander Hamilton, the man who hadn’t been to work in a week.

Thomas knew better than to blame it on himself, and even if he really wanted to, he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t dare. He knew that Hamilton wasn’t so petty as to never show up at work just because of a single argument, just to avoid Thomas, just to create a new wall between the two that Thomas doubted could be remade. However, he also knew of the man’s stubbornness, which made it so damn difficult to place everything into its correct order, so damn difficult to understand where the hell the immigrant was. He also knew that the man would have blocked Thomas If it was simply the fight, but it was clear that he hadn’t, seeing as though Thomas was still able to message him throughout the day without his text bubbles going green or without receiving a message on how he couldn’t reach the number anymore.

There had been theories, Thomas knew, on how the man had been murdered. Perhaps he died on his own cause, the insane amounts of coffee he drank of a daily basis finally getting to him. Perhaps he got ran over, and was in the hospital. Perhaps he had taken his own life. There were murmurs, whispers going around in the halls of the workplace as if this was a high school and Alexander was the most popular kid there. Concerned mutters, questioning glances at Thomas or at Washington or at anybody else who could have been associated with him, for good or bad cause. Thomas didn’t bother indulging himself in the gossips, knowing better than something so simple as being ran over stopping Hamilton. He knew the immigrant, and as much as he promised himself to despise it, he almost knew him better than he knew himself. If any of the theories were correct, it was most likely to be the fact he was murdered.

There wasn’t much Thomas could do for it, anyway. Nothing he trusted himself to do, that is. He trusted himself to think about what might be the issue, to think about how to solve it, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to act on anything he thought. He shouldn’t even care this much, anyway. Alexander wasn’t anything to him but a cheap fuck, and he didn’t feel like the immigrant was anything more, either. Even still, though, any human with morals would feel a twinge of worry at the extended absence. Thomas had immediately blamed it on John despite himself, even though he knew it was virtually impossible. John was in a jail cell until the day of his trial arrived, and there was no way him and Alexander could have seen each other in the time. The trial was in a few months. It was practically impossible for him to be the cause of Alexander’s disappearance. Or, was it? Thomas didn’t know. He hadn’t dealt with any of this before. And it killed him.

Well, a week turned to two weeks. Which turned to five, which turned to a month. There was still no response to his cell, despite ‘read’ messages which indicated that Alexander at least saw them. There was no calls, no voicemails, and most importantly, no sight of the male in general. It was as if he never existed in the first place, a sort of figment in Thomas’s imagination that he placed due to, what, loneliness? Everybody stopped talking about him. It was dead silent without him. There was no arguments, no debates, no cabinet battles. There was no disagreement. There was no /Hamilton/.

Until there was.

Thomas scouted the other’s office whenever he could, as much as he could. There was never a time where the Virginian’s door would now be found closed, seeing as though they were just a few brief steps between the two rooms to visit one another. He always had a perfect view of the other’s door, and would find himself glancing up at it subconsciously whenever he was writing or working in general. And, really, it took five looks before Thomas noticed the golden ring of light around the other’s door, the two small sounds he heard coming from the dense wood. However, as soon as he had, he jumped up without even a breath of hesitation, hastily pushing his chair into his desk and cringing when he heard the metal squeak against the tile floor of his office.

Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.

He glanced around his room, unsure if he should bring something, /anything/ as if wanting to assure himself he saw what he saw, heard what he heard, before leaving his room in a huff, striding to Hamilton’s. He dished a hand through his hair, swallowing down when he finally found himself in front of the other’s door, hand hovering over the wood. He wasn’t sure why it took him so much bravery for such a simple action, perhaps he was afraid of what he might see. He never knew. Anything could have happened, anything could be true. But then he was knocking, a brief two hits, before shoving his hands in his pockets and waiting.

He heard three noises, now, despite the original two still ringing in his ear. First, was a panicked yelp- which he /knew/ was Hamilton’s voice. It was on edge, searching, for what Thomas couldn’t place. Anxious, and weary. He knew something that nobody else knew. He’s seen something that nobody else seen. It sent a shiver down Thomas’s spine.  
Second, was a mewl, of a creature beyond what could have been human. Of course, Thomas wasn’t an idiot, he knew surely well that it was a cat of some kind. The creature matched Hamilton, whom Thomas had already assumed to be the potential owner – weary and watching. Thomas couldn’t say much more than that.  
Then, was the cry of pain, that was once again laced in Alexander’s voice, causing Thomas’s eyes to widen involuntarily. Something happened, and Thomas already had assumptions, thoughts, and god, did he have fears.

Thomas knocked again. Next, was silence, other than a rather loud shut of wooden door, which caused Thomas to jump in retrospect. He waited a few moments. Jefferson was never the most patient man, and he doubted that he would be able to wait more than another two words before bursting into the other’s office without bothering in any sort of word or warning. Which, is exactly what he had done, as soon as a minute had passed away. His hand, which was originally linked in his belt loop, now came up to wrap around the doorknob of Hamilton’s office, a small spike of hesitance rolling through his blood before he forced it open, eyebrows furrowing closed with the sight he had automatically been greeted with.

Nothing was there. Well, things were there, but nothing that had displayed Hamilton having been there – nothing that displayed anybody having been there, at that point. It was a sense of moving out, with an empty desk in the middle, taped closed boxes littering the floor with messy, black handwriting on the sides to distinguish what items were in what boxes. If Thomas were to even attempt it, he doubted he would be able to read what the hell was written down.  
Other than the boxes and the empty desk, there was one other sign of life. A cat. Of course, Thomas knew that the animal would be there. Still, that didn’t stop the light shock of surprise from rolling down his spine, as if no evidence had gone to prove its existence.

Thomas first took work on examining the animal, having already dropped to one knee to pet it. It had fur similar to a flurry of snow hitting New York, with what seemed to be either silver or blue undertones that showed only in a specific angle in the artificial light of the office. Its eyes were electric and curious, a bright blue matching an ill ones vains studying Thomas as if he had no right to be here. Well, really, he didn’t. This wasn’t his office, nor was it his friends office. He had shared nothing with the immigrant other than a few bloody flowers- which he had chalked up to Hamilton with ease- and a few steamy nights. The cat seemed to know that. It puzzled Thomas how the animal had such a mind.

He reached his hand out to pet the animal, running his hand over the cats head before scratching under its chin. He earned a delighted purr, which caused Thomas a soft chuckle. However, noticing a badge on vest, he quickly tore his hand away, guilt already puddling at the bottom of his stomach. Oh. The vest was a deep green, with a lighter, pastel green lining the materiel. Imprinted on the side of the animal was a single word, perhaps a name, light blue threading matching the cats eyes almost to a tee. Gordita. Interesting.  
On the top of the animals- well, no. On the top of Gordita’s body, running over her (? He wasn’t terribly sure the gender, simple assumptions taking over solid proof,) back and spine, wrote five words.  
Working animal. Do not pet.

Thomas hummed under his breath, now standing up and letting a small groan escape his lips with the action. He earned what sounded like a disappointed whine from the animal, it now rubbing against the leg of the table, her tail bushing up not terribly unlike a peacock. After Thomas had finished studying the animal, he decided to do what he was actually here to do. Search for Hamilton. Really, he wasn’t quite sure where the other could be hiding, or where he /thought/ he was hiding – but still, he searched. Under the desk. Nothing there. In the halls, as if Hamilton could have possibly brushed past him somehow. Nothing. Out the window, as if the immigrant would have actually jumped five flights just to avoid Thomas. It was ridiculous. There was no fucking way Alexander could have escaped from Thomas that fast. Thomas also knew that there was no fucking way that he imagined the other’s voice.

Then, was the closet.

It was the one thing he had yet to check, and perhaps that hesitance in action had a meaning to it. Well, it made sense. If Alexander was going to be here, then he was going to be in the fucking closet. He didn’t fit anywhere else. How the hell would a grown ass man fit in the drawer of an office desk? Thomas’s ignorance of common sense hurt himself, sometimes. Glancing down at Gordita for a moment, as if to ask if he should actually go through with the action he was planning, Thomas reached forward, wrapping his hand around the doorknob. He hesitated a few seconds, before slowly pulling it open, blinking so his eyes could register the sight before him. A Hamilton, of course- wearing a shirt with a tear in the shoulder and a large stain of what looked to be blood surrounding it. Knotted and tangled hair, bruises covering his bare legs, scars covering his bare arms. There was a prominent bruise covering his left eye, too – not to mention his broken bottom lip.

“D-Don’t tell a-anyone I’m h-here. P-Please. I have t-to leave t-the company a-and I c-can’t t-tell Washington. L-Let them t-think I w-was m-murdered or s-something. P-Please.”


	18. On Our Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander doesn't give enough out, and Thomas is trying to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short compared to the others! I feel real awful about not posting much anymore, but i've hit a wall of lack of motivation and lack of happiness, which is.. yeah. but im trying!!! aaa sorry fuck  
> Triggers: Mention of a broken ankle  
> im sorry for the ending ;)  
> No sentence this time!

A moment of silence passes between the two men, where nothing but Alexander's shaky hiccups, and Thomas's rapid heartbeat was heard. Well, perhaps not really the second one, but Thomas could swear it was as loud as it was in his ears in real life. He didn't know what pained him about the sight, or the words the immigrant had spoken. He didn't know why he wanted nothing more than to hold Alexander in his arms and tell him it'll be alright, without a hint of hesitation or worry in his voice. He wanted to believe his own words. He wanted Alexander to believe his words. He wanted to see the immigrant better.

Alexander blinked for a few moments when he saw Thomas reaching his hand down to him, confusion written in his eyes. The motion from the Virginian caused Gordita to mewl, automatically moving to rub against Alexander's leg, perhaps as a yearned attempt at protection or at least comfort. One of the two - Alexander couldn't decide which. He lightly shushed the animal, lifting his hand to scratch her chin, before hesitantly taking Thomas's hand. He helped himself up, automatically earning a pained sob from his own lips. He collapsed against Thomas, whose eyes had widened because of the action, quickly making headway to pick the smaller male up, despite the protesting meows of the cat below them. He set Alexander down on his desk, worrying his bottom lip between his top teeth. 

Thomas wasn't an idiot. He knew full well who did this, who caused this. It didn't matter what kind of bullshit he already knew Alexander was going to try to pull. It'll be obvious that he didn't fall down the stairs, or burn himself on his straightening iron, if and when Thomas were to ask what happened. However, he completely doubted that Alexander would actually flat out tell him what happened. If he were to think that, he would be too trusting. So, while he managed to pull a first aid kit from one of the not-yet taped boxes, pulling out what he needed, he decided on different conversation.

"I like your cat."

Alexander cocked an eyebrow, watching the taller Virginian move around in slight confusion. However, when he saw the first-aid kit in the other's hands, the confusion wrote away, him instead staying silent on the subject. He knew he would have to undo all of the help Thomas was about to do, but he wasn't about to argue with the Southerner now, already knowing where that would lead him.

"G-Gordita?"  
"Yeah."  
"It means c-chubby girl in Spanish."  
"Oh?"  
The name brought a small chuckle out of Thomas's lips, as he grabbed the Neosporin from the clear box, along with a napkin. He tabbed some of the dried blood off of Alexander's lip, which earned a small hiss, before putting some Neosporin on the napkin, gently buffing it into the smaller male's lip.  
"Why'd you settle on that?"  
"B-Because she's chubby and J-John doesn't understand Spanish."  
"Ah. So this is all John?"  
There was a moment of silence coming from Alexander, before a sniffle followed suit after. Thomas sat the napkin down, now covering Alexander's busted lip with a small Band-aid. When Alexander had finally decided to speak, it wasn't much above a whisper.  
It took all Thomas had not to beat somebodies ass then and there.  
"I-I'm afraid of- of him."

Thomas heaved a heavy sigh, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against his forehead - as if that were to help literally anything in the current situation. Because of this action, Gordita let out a long mewl, jumping up into and curling up on Alexander's lap. The immigrant, in turn, let a small laugh escape his lips, settling on petting her. Thomas took this moment to assess the damage on Hamilton's eye.  
"Do you want to leave?"  
"..Y-Yeah."  
"Can you?"  
"N-No."  
"Do you think what he's doing is right?"  
"I don't.. I-I don't know."  
Thomas frowned slightly, before only bothering to sigh and nod, leaning away from him. His lip was caught between his top teeth, and Alexander coughed into his hands. He glanced down at what was in his palm, before clenching his hands shit. He never opened them.

Thomas noticed this and glanced down at his hands with a small frown. He hesitated, before reaching out to take Alexander's hands in his own. Alexander shyed away from him for a moment, before already heaving a defeated sigh and putting his hands back. With careful movements, Thomas unfolded Alexander's hands so they were now open, glancing up at the other before looking down at what Alexander was so keen on hiding. It was a flower petal of all things, a striped carnation from what Thomas could tell. Thomas stared at it wide-eyed for a few moments, before swallowing down a new wave of emotions riding up in his throat. He took the petal from Alexander's hand, rubbing it between his fingers before letting it float from his hands down into the trashcan.

"Do you know who it is?"  
"U-Uh- yeah."  
Thomas paused for a moment, before nodding, running his hand through his unruly mess of hair. He hesitated, his decision ultimately landing on not speaking more about it, glancing around the room. He wasn't given a lot of information about the situation, but he wasn't like what he was told. He finally looked back at Alexander, who was currently busying his mind with petting his cat. The sight brought a small smile to his face.  
"You can't stay there."  
"I k-know."  
"Do you have anywhere?"  
"Harleigh."  
"Who?"  
"She's G-Gordita's vet. She knows everything. S-She lets me stay o-over if I need to."  
"And she doesn't do anything to actually fucking stop it?"

Thomas's tone caused Alexander to flinch, the Virginian instantly frowning at the reaction. Following Alexander's silence, was a shaky sigh from the Southerner.  
"You can't stand, can you?"  
"H-Hardly."  
"How did you get in here?"  
"Don't- d-don't ask."  
"What happened, anyway?"  
"Untreated b-broken ankle, I think."  
"Do I have permission to carry you?"  
"Uh.. Y-Yes."

Thomas swallowed down and nodded, carefully wrapping his arms around Alexander. He picked the other up, with hardly any difficulty, the immigrant in turn clutching onto Gordita for dear life. She seemed used to it, though, a comfortable meow escaping the animal. Thomas glanced down at the two of them, as if to make sure they're okay, before beginning to carry Alexander to his own car, ignoring his rising frustration and anger. He knew that it was likely this was still going on, why didn't he do anything to stop it? Why couldn't he just think, for once, instead of ignoring the problem? Why did he have to be so selfish?  
When he got to the car, Thomas sat Alexander down in the passenger seat, shifting the seat back so the immigrant could lay down. The shorter male in question had already closed his eyes, along with the already snoring Gordita, looking as if he hadn't slept in months.  
Which, Thomas would have assumed was true with ease.

Thomas sighed, pressing the seatbelt in over the man's body before quietly shutting the door. He got into the driver's seat, starting the car and putting his own seatbelt on. Turning down the radio so that Alexander would be able to actually sleep, he pulled out of the parking lot of the office building, driving to the address that Alexander had given him while they were walking to the car. He sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, humming softly to himself mostly to keep himself sane, before Alexander's voice cut through the silence, causing Thomas to jump slightly.  
"T-Thomas?"  
"Yeah?"  
He was silent for a few moments, before continuing in a quiet voice.

"I t-think I love you."


	19. I Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is mad, Alexander is sad, Harleigh is rad and Sophia is glad.   
> And John is bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THomas boutta smack a hoe with gucchi flip flops and he's also boutta get smacked with some gucchi flip flops whAT THE FUCK IS UP  
> KYLE  
> I realized that people other than Thomas, Alexander and John exist so I'm gonna try to be more i n c l u s i v e  
> no if you're wondering Sophia and Harleigh don't exist in Hamilton but they're my babes and i love them and they're v support and yeah they're great  
> i'll also be adding someone else but she's for the end bc shes the most special to me :)  
> im gay for her  
> anyway aaa  
> heres todays sentence  
> "Please wait outside of the house."

"Well, I think you're a fucking idiot."

The words stung, they really did. But Alexander wasn't sure what much more he had expected, in all honesty. A shiver moved up his spine, one of cold origin, pressing against the back of his throat and closing it up until tears of pain surfaced in Alexander's eyes. He didn't dare let them fall down his cheeks, though, instead swallowing the wave and giving a solemn nod, slinking down further into his seat. He opened his eyes to examine Thomas's white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, his red face and his wide eyes, his seemingly pained expression, and all of it killed him. Alexander knew he was hated, but not this much. He glanced down at Gordita instead, who had stood up, stretched out, and began lightly nibbling on the tip of Alexander's nose. Thomas continued.

"Not- shit, sorry. I didn't mean- y'aint in your right fuckin' mind. Y' don't know what love is. You're clueless for that shit, Hamilton. You're- you're desperate for some sort of fuckin' affection. Y'ain't in love."  
Thomas's tone had grown to a more desperate drop, a pleading voice, as if saying those things would suddenly make them true. But he knew they weren't. He hoped they weren't, at least. Because, he didn't think he could manage the twist in his stomach when Alexander said those words, or the pain he felt whenever he saw the other suffering. He now knew what the feeling was, and he was terrified of it.

Alexander swallowed down, letting a wave of tense silence between the two. He hated silence. He's always hated silence, but now he decided he /really/ hates it. Despises it with the deepest feeling in his gut he could imagine. The one thing he couldn't have possibly hated it more than was Laurens, the treatment he's put through each day, but that didn't matter. Alexander offered a meek nod, now focusing on running his hand over the soft expanse of Gordita's fur, over her head and down her back. He earned a delighted purr. It was plenty to keep his mind at bay, for the time being.

It didn't take quite long for them to get to the house, the roads being practically empty at around three in the morning. Of course, that was expected. It allowed them to swerve in and out of lanes, through green lights, and hell, even through alleys if need be without consequence. When Thomas reached the house, he parked, glancing over at Alexander with a soft sigh. He looked depressed. The sight depressed Thomas.  
He cleared his throat. Alexander jumped.

"Please, just.. Wait outside of the house. In the car. I'll pick you up when we're ready for you, okay?"  
Alexander glanced over at him, a small whine escaping his lips. There was also a frown pulling his lips down, which broke Thomas's heart, for a reason he wasn't going to actually admit. Not even to himself. Still, though, the immigrant nodded, glancing back down to Gordita who was currently mewling and rubbing her body against his face. Thomas matched the smaller males nod, before leaving the car, walking up to the door of the house. He offered around two to three knocks on the door, waiting rather impatiently.

When somebody had finally answered the door, Thomas let out a rather relieved sigh, pushing past the shorter girl and allowing himself into the house without a word spoken. She was clearly muscular, with pulled back blond hair and a headband holding the whisps back. She was wearing what seemed to be a Taekwon-Do uniform, which should have intimidated Thomas.  
It didn't.  
The women paused there for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, before she slowly shut the door, turning to look at Thomas.  
"I, ah, may I help you?"

Thomas turned back to her when he finished examining her house, his eyes narrowed down in a glare. He had already hated the women, whose name was apparently Harleigh. He let a growl of a huff escape his lips, him crossing his arms. His eyes narrowed even more, eyebrows furrowing.  
"I'm ain't the one who fucking needs help. You know who needs help? Alexander. You fucking- you- you knew about all of this, and you didn' do anything to help him! You're not trying to do anything! Y'ain't helpin' him by existin' and shit, ya' know."

Harleigh seemed taken aback for a moment, perhaps hurt, before she simply shook her head, a calm demeanour riddling her personality. She reminded him of Burr in a slight way, from what he could tell by now.  
"All we can do for now is wait. We know what John is doing to him, sure. We also know how badly it's affecting Alexander. He told me all about it. However, seeing as though no other attempts have worked, he's not in jail yet, and he hasn't faced any issues, I doubt us doing anything more will help. We need to wait. He needs somewhere to stay. My roommate isn't.. Fond, of him. Do you have a place?"

Thomas stood there for a moment, fuming from previous frustration that he already held for the woman. Sure, he agreed. But.. Still. If he was so close to Alexander and John, especially John, he would of beaten the man's ass up. But she didn't. And Thomas would forever hold that against her. However, he simply nodded, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He never noticed just how exhausted he was.   
"Yeah. He can- he can stay at my place. Who's your roommate?"  
Harleigh raised an eyebrow, before simply shaking her head, dismissing the question.  
"It really doesn't matter. She's not much important. There's a lot Alexander told me about the situation, i don't know if-"

Harleigh was cut off with yet another female voice coming from the hall, ripping through what Harleigh had previously said and destroying the slightly calm demeanour that had collected.  
"Harleigh! Who is that?"  
Harleigh looked pained for a moment, before glancing to the hall when the girl finally came out of the hall. She was thin, and around the same height as Harleigh. She had short, brown hair, with a red sweatshirt crop top and slightly baggy blue jeans. She eyed Thomas for a moment, before glancing back to Harleigh like he was nothing.

"Remember Alexander? This is his- his friend."  
"Haha, what? I thought John cut them all out."  
"Sophia-"  
"He's /got/ to know about this, holy shit. He's actually gonna kill him. I'm gonna make so much shit it's- holy fuck. I can take us out again. You know that one place, that looked like a warehouse, with all the expensive shit?"  
Sophia - the name Thomas counted from Harleigh - glanced back to Thomas, pulling her phone out and snapping a photo of the Virginian before he could react. She let an excited giggle escape her lips, before walking up to him and shoving her hand forward. Thomas hesitantly shook it.

"Hi. I'm Sophia. John's friend. I get him the branding tools and knives and rope and stuff. Oh! And the alcohol. I get so much money for it, you'll be dead if you knew, I swear. Literally, when I tell him about you, you'll be dead."  
Thomas's eyes widened, and he quickly took his hand away from the other. He was unable to help when his hands balled into fists at his side. He raised his hand, quick to hit, before the door opened quietly, leaving him to turn to the door quickly.

There was Alexander, with an anxious smile on his lips, his face red. He was holding Gordita, slowly petting her.  
"I- uh- hey. You were- y-you were taking a while."  
Sophia cracked up into a fit of laughter, as Harleigh rushed over to Alexander. She led him to another room, talking in hushed tones about the cat. Sophia called out after him.  
"You're dead!"  
Thomas turned to Sophia, forcing his hands in his pockets so he could swear himself on lack of previous violence. He spoke through gritted teeth.  
"You help John?"  
"I get so much fucking cash from it, too."  
"You know what he does?"  
"I help him."


	20. (A-N)

Hey guys!  
Uh,,, slight issue.  
So, the way i would post chapters is simple! I would use my school laptop, write it in granmarly, then post it. Easy.  
However, my laptop has now been taken away, seeing as though school is done for me this Friday.  
Heh.. Heh..  
I'm sure y'all know what this means.  
A pause!  
Aaa, I'm sorry.  
Ive been writing the next chapter on paper and shit, and I already know what's going to happen. I have my phone, and if i can't get a replacement for the laptop quick enough, I'm going to have to use it. However, that means that the chapters may be slightly shorter, or have more grammatical errors.  
I'm sorry aaaaaa-  
I'm doing my best to fix this issue, and i hope this doesn't deter anybody from the story. I'm sorry you've had to wait so long already.  
(You can insult me in the comments if you want I'm sorry aa-)  
I love you guys lots, and want to thank you for all your support. It means so much to me. <3 ill see you next chapter!!


	21. Betray the Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia is no good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay yo bitches im fuckn back  
> huehuehue  
> warnings: abuse, forced kissing, oops  
> guys once again i promise sophia isnt like this in real like ok----  
> ok read it bye guys aaa!!

Thomas stated at her silently for a moment, honestly unable to comprehend what she said. Well, he could comprehend it, perfectly well at that - but, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. He was standing face to face, head to head with a helper to the issue, and he couldn't even unfreeze from his current spot. He wanted to attack her. Dear god, there was so much he wanted to do to her. Put her through everything that she had put Alexander through. But he couldn't. He couldn't, he didn't, and he knew he wouldn't. He assured himself that gathering more information was more important, anyway. So, as he stared the girl down, her grin bringing even more violent thoughts to his mind, he decided to whisper a question instead, as if he couldn't trust himself to say it out loud.

"..How? What do you do?"  
This question delighted the girl, whose grin turned instead excited, as if eager to tell her friends about an update of her crush back in middle school. There was a small giggle to match, her eyes shining in a way that Thomas doubted he wanted to ever see again.  
"Oh! Yeah. Well, I have to do it all while Alexander's blindfolded, so it's really not much fun. Though, he can't see me do it, so he trusts me outside of John's house, so that's pretty cool. It's actually kinda fun to listen to him complain to Harleigh about-"

Thomas let a groan escape his lips, running his hand through his untamed mess of hair. He wasn't surprised that the girl got off track, nor was he surprised that she talked a lot. It was expected, in all honesty. He narrowed his eyes into a glare, shaking his head.  
"Get to the fucking point. What do you do?"  
This caused Sophia to frown, before she sighed heavily.  
"Fine, fine, whatever. Burning, cutting, branding. I get to tie him up sometimes. Or gag him. There's a lot, I can't really remember it all."

Thomas stared her down for a few moments, fists now by his side clenching and unclenching to a silent rhythm his body had made without him being aware of it. And, oh god, how much he had wanted to destroy that bitch then and there. He didn't see girl, or boy, at the time. Didn't see her age, didn't see anything that could have possibly changed his mind. All he saw was danger, not for himself, but for Alexander. And he would do anything to destroy that. However, before he could, there was a voice cutting him off from the living room, one of a panicked nature.  
"No!"

Thomas's eyes had widened, but with one final glare, he left Sophia, instead leaving for the room he saw Alexander and Harleigh disappear into. He had to admit, he wasn't terribly happy with what he saw. Mostly because of the fact it included an almost naked Hamilton, boxers still intact, wrapped around himself and shaking badly with a highly concerned looking Harleigh on her knees in front of him. Thomas let something akin to a hiss, or growl, escape his lips, before Harleigh looked over, relief instantly washing over her facial features when she saw the Virginian.  
"I wanted to see all of his injuries. He needs- I proposed the idea of him going to the hospital, the wounds are real bad, but he instantly broke into a sort of panic. He won't calm down, now, and I'm not sure what to do."

Thomas scoffed lightly and shook his head, finally entering the room instead of simply hanging in the doorway. So much was happening, and honestly, it was flying past him. He didn't know who to hate, who to be glad for, who he was protecting. However, he had a basic scoreboard, for the time being. Hate Sophia, be wary of Harleigh, and care for Alexander. Speaking of the immigrant, Thomas sat next to the smaller male, wrapping the other in his arms. Automatically, Alexander clung to Thomas, burying his face in the other male's shirt. Thomas glanced up.

"Whats the worst thing you found?"  
"Uh.. It looked like he got cut, burnt, then stabbed all in the same wound. It was- it's pretty bad. He really needs medical attention."  
"You don't think?"  
Thomas couldn't help the sarcastic retort, before rolling his eyes and pulling Alexander closer.  
"We need to take him. No. I have to take him. I don't trust you, and Sophia is just-"  
"No!"

Alexander cut into the conversation, looking up at Thomas with wide eyes. Those wide, shining, grey-brown eyes that Thomas had always melted when fixated on him. Those wide, shining, grey-brown eyes which were currently glossy with unwept tears, breaking Thomas's heard as soon as he focused on them. Those eyes, that always seemed to be the death of him.  
"Please don't make me go. If you do, then don't- I don't want you to take me. It hurts- hurts to be near you. I can't. Somebody else. Please."

Thomas had to swallow down a sudden wave of emotions with the words, blinking rapidly to ignore the way his own eyes burnt for a moment, before nodding, glancing up at Harleigh with a cocked eyebrow. She caught her lower lip between her top teeth, before glancing away, albeit hesitantly.  
"I can't. Don't have my license. I've been, ah, caught up with other things."  
Thomas stared at her, before groaning, running his hands down his face. He suddenly felt like everybody's dad, strange as it may be. He parted his lips to speak, before jumping when he heard Sophia's voice, head snapping over to look in the doorway where it came from. There she was, excitement writing in her eyes.

"I can drive him! I'm the only one left, anyway."  
Thomas narrowed his eyes at her, a sort of hiss escaping his lips.  
"If you think I'm about to let you alone with Alexander, then holy shit, you're more of a fucking idiot-"  
However, Alexander cut him off with a whine, stumbling out of Thomas's arms. He left for Sophia, who grinned, cocking an eyebrow at the Immigrant's next words.  
"N-No. I want to go with her. She's the- the only one I trust right now."  
With that, Sophia had muttered a halfassed 'bye', taking Alexander's hand and leading him out of the room. However, they were both cut sort with Thomas following after them, causing Sophia to turn around on her heel and glare up at the taller, and older, male.

"Holy hell, what now?"  
Thomas narrowed his eyes, before leaning down to Sophia's ear, hissing a whisper.  
"Hurt him, cause any damage to him, or lead him to potential danger in any way and you're actually fucking dead. Got that?"  
Sophia managed to roll her eyes, before simply nodding, scoffing slightly.  
"You can trust me more than that, you know. I'm not some lowlife scum."  
Finally, with that, and a small wave from Alexander, they left the house, disappearing into the car.

 

The ride really wasn't as interesting as it could have been, though Alexander didn't really know why he had expected any more. It mainly consisted of Sophia scream-singing some sort of pop music, re-applying lipgloss in the mirror, or calling her friend and talking loudly into the mirror. However, by some time, it had grown silent, the original singing turning into a soft humming. If Alexander didn't know any better, he would say that the mood had darkened. And, when the watched the now oh-so-familiar hospital run past them in the window, he knew why.

"Uh- Sophia?"  
She raised an eyebrow for a moment, scoffing lightly as if just remembering Alexander's existence and already finding irritation with it. However, she applied a fake smile onto her lips just like she applied the gloss earlier, glancing over to Alexander.  
"What's up, 'Lex?"  
"You, ah, you passed the hospital."  
"Did I? Aw, darn. I'll just take you to a different one, I guess. I never remember directions."

With a swear under her breath, the role was rather convincing, her turning back to the road with a slightly soured expression. Alexander swallowed down, before slowly nodding, slinking back in his seat and closing his eyes. It was surprisingly easy for him to control his anxiety about the situation. He had no reason that he had known of, thus far, not to trust Sophia. They didn't really talk much, but he wasn't provided with a reason to distrust her. So, he hardly paused when he felt his eyelids growing heavy, his head nodding off, him slipping off into a state of sleep.

When he woke up, it was with a hardly unfamiliar feeling, him stirring before whining slightly. He couldn't move his wrists when he tried to stretch out, something harsh and scratchy binding them together. He opened his eyes, though that didn't seem to do him much justice, seeing as though there was cloth hiding him from seeing anything. The same with his mouth, when he tried to scream out - though, instead of a cloth, it was a sort of ballgag.  
He heard a giggle. He swore he could hear a grin through the familiar voice.

"Oh, damn it. I thought you wouldn't wake up until I actually got you inside. Fuck, this is going to be so much harder."  
Alexander whined again, the sound instead shifting to a muffled yelp when he was picked up. He kicked and flailed around, only owning a small grunt and another giggle. It only lasted a few moments, though, before he was set down, being held up by an arm around his waist. He heard three harsh knocks on wood, which he assumed was knocking on a door. He heard a squeak of the door opening, a small breath of silence after that.

"I thought he was at work. That's where I dropped him off. How the fuck did he get with you?"  
Alexander stilled at the sound of John's voice, a muffled sob leaving his lips.  
"This Thomas guy brought him to my house. Harleigh said they were friends. Anyway, they told me to take him to the hospital. Which is why here's here."  
"Thank you."  
"Oh, and I wouldn't recommend keeping him like you have been. You have to let it seem like nothing's happening. Too many people know, and if he goes missing again, you'll be in shit."  
A pause.  
"Okay. Thanks."

There was a small hum, before Alexander was let go of, only to be grabbed again by larger, far rougher hands. He was tugged inside, a loud slam of a door shutting ringing in his ears. When the door was shut, Alexander was shoved against it, almost by John's instinct, his gag being pulled off. He parted his lips to speak, yell or scream out, but that wasn't much use when a pair of lips was now working against his own, shutting him up.  
When John pulled away, his breath was heavy, and hot against Alexander's neck.

"So, Thomas?"  
Alexander noticed that he didn't taste any alcohol on John's tongue from before, he didn't smell any smoke or lingering shots. That terrified him.  
"H-He's nobody-"  
A harsh bite on his shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.  
"Be honest. You know fully well that lying's gonna get you in more trouble."  
And he was right. He was always right. Alexander nodded, attempting to pull away from John, a sob leaving his lips.  
"I l-love h-him. I'm s-sorry. We fucked-"  
"I knew about that part."  
"- A-And I love him. I'm s-so sorry."

John hummed, before shaking his head, pulling away from Alexander and letting go of him. Alexander almost toppled over at that, not given much time to gather his balance, before he was grabbed once again, this time by the neck. Alexander gasped out for hair, before being dragged along, John whistling some sort of tune.

"Sure. Fine. You're in love with him. Whatever. I bet he fucks you hard, huh? I bet he's rough. Unforgiving. If you love that,"  
John pressed a kiss to the previous mark,  
"Then I can do the same. Oh, I'll go above and beyond, just for you, my love. Everything for you."

Alexander's masked eyes widened, and he shook his head, filling with slight confusion when he heard another door open.  
"N-No! You d-don't have to- you really d-don't- I mean-"  
Alexander was shushed by, once again, a pair of lips on his own, working against him for a few moments. That was before John pulled away, whispering in Alexander's ear.  
"Too late, Lexi."

With that, and a small nibble on his ear, Alexander was suddenly being pushed down, now falling down what had to be a flight of stairs, a mix of a scream and a sob escaping his lips. He was still tied up, and blindfolded, but he saw the color change when the lights went out through the cloth, and he heard the slamming and locking of a door.  
Alexander's silenced sobs and sniffles were the only thing echoing through the empty basement.


	22. Assured Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise, and a major worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unimportant but you can noT TELL ME JEFFERSON IS A BOTTOM OK ILL FIGHT EVERYBODY ON THIS I STG  
> anyway  
> ever since i posted the previous chapter, ive had thoughts rolling through my head about this chapter, haha  
> mostly because of somebody saying john loves the idea of alex  
> i have a proving people wrong kink, apparently huehuehue  
> anyway, here!!! yee  
> btw sorry this is so short idk whyt

Alexander wasn't really too sure how long he had been there, at the base of the basement stairwell, shivering harshly from lack of a decent heating system and wincing any time he were to move his wrists. He had grown to a sort of unconscious conscious state, like being on the borderline of sleep after a lack of it for days. At one point, he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not, because of how dark the room was, and just how heavy his eyelids felt. However, a sort of humming he heard seemed to wake him up, frozen body stirring after a while of stillness.

He blinked for a few moments, a yawn leaving his lips, before he noticed the fact that the room had a new brightness to it. It was a soft, warm, golden glow, like perfectly made toast on a Sunday morning. It was easy on the eyes, nothing like the bright, harsh lights of an artificial lightbulb. The sound he heard, finally dawning on him, connected to a weight on his shoulder, and a fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt. It took him a few more moments to notice this than he noticed the light, head quickly snapping to look over at whoever was by his side. The feeling that rose in his chest after realizing it was John was probably something to the likes of a heart attack.

Alexander let a small whimper escape his lips, one of a terrifying nature no doubt, which alerted the freckled male to his sudden consciousness, glancing up. When he saw Alexander, a soft smile played on his lips, before he set his head back down on the shorter male's shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed.  
"Goodmorning, love."  
Alexander had attempted to mutter out a reply, the ballgag in his mouth not doing much to help those attempts. When John heard no response, he frowned, looking back up again. However, when he noticed his mistake, he let a small chuckle escape his lips, leaning up to take the gag out of Alexander's mouth.

Alexander stayed silent a moment after that, watching John wrap the gag up and put it beside the two with surprising care. Once again, he didn't smell the familiar reek of alcohol on the other's clothing, instead a soft sort of lavender that fabric softener would hold. He finally managed to mutter out a meek "Mornin'." to reply to the other, watching as his head once again left to rest on Alexander's shoulder, hands once again fidgeting with the bottom of Alexander's shirt.

They sat like that for a while. Silent, besides John's humming, a sort of Disney song that he hadn't heard before. Even that was quiet, echoing off the empty walls of the basement until it landed back to the two men. Alexander was perfectly fine with the silence, for once, keeping it to him and his thoughts. Though, even still, he had to break it, a sort of reassurance being begged for in the back of the immigrants' mind that he simply couldn't keep silent anymore.

"..John?"  
"Yes, love?"  
"Do you.. Do you love me?"  
The question brought a small frown to John's face, but he nodded nevertheless.  
"Of course I do. I love everything about you."  
"Like what?"  
The Carolinian thought for a moment, silent.  
"I love your eyes. How bright, and beautiful they are. I love your mind, and just how intelligent you are, the irreplaceable spark you have. I love your smile, the way it's off-kilter, it always brightens me. The same with your laugh. I've loved you since I met you."

Alexander stayed silent after the examples were brought up, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He didn't know how any of this was playing out the way it was. He wasn't being hit yet, or insulted, or belittled. Quite the opposite, really. That worried him, to no extent. He could feel it coming, and he knew it was going to be soon; he just didn't know /how/ soon. He was tentative with his next question.  
"Then why.. Why do you do all of this to me?"  
The question earned a sad chuckle.

"If I don't, you'll leave me again. I don't want you to do that. You hurt me, Alexander. We were so good, and I didn't need to do anything to keep you with me, because we have our love and that was all we needed. But then there was /Eliza/, and you left me for /her/, and I'm not letting that happen again. These people are just going to hurt you, Alexander. They don't love you. They're using you. I want to keep you from that. And if it takes /this/ to do it, then I'll make that sacrifice."  
He paused.  
"The better you are, and the better you behave, the better I'll get with punishment. The more lenient I'll be. I just need to teach you to stay, you know?"

Alexander's mouth, and throat, dried up with the response. He offered a hesitant nod, his voice coming out as shaky.  
"Oh- Okay."  
John kissed his cheek.  
"I love you."  
"I- okay."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Where is he?"

Thomas's voice, of course, was anxious, and slightly shaky at that, concentrating on fidgeting with his hands instead of having his mind drift off to whatever the hell could be happening with Alexander at the time. Sophia wasn't back yet. Which meant that Alexander wasn't back yet. It had been four hours. It shouldn't have been four hours. All he needed was a check through, and then he'd be back. Gordita seemed to notice the Virginian's anxiety, hopping into the males lap and curling up with a small purr.

Harleigh checked the time of her phone with a small shrug, chewing on her lower lip.  
"I'm not sure. I texted Sophia, but she didn't respond with anything more than the clock emoji. I don't- I'm not sure what she did. I can't promise it's what she was supposed to do, though."  
Thomas let a groan escape his lips, dragging his hands down his face. He set Gordita down on the couch, which earned a disappointed mewl from the kitten, before standing up.  
"There's no fucking way they're at the hospital. I'm sorry, but that's fucking bullshit. God, damn it! I knew I shouldn't have let her take him. I'm going to the hospital. You're coming with me. And no, you're /not/ allowed to fucking object, because I-"

Thomas was just off when the sound of the door opening was heard, a voice following after it, before the door shut.  
"Fuck you Ellis, I didn't fucking mean to. ANNNNyway. I gotta go. I'm home now. Yeah. Whatever. Bye."  
Thomas's eyes widened when he heard the voice, automatically choosing to glare at Harleigh instead of Sophia. The girl, in turn, sat there wide-eyed for a moment, before shaking her head and moving to stand up.  
"Stay here, I'd rather not having to clean my roommates' blood off of the floor."

With that, and a scoff from Thomas, Harleigh left the room, now meeting Sophia in the hallway. Thomas didn't bother moving to follow her, instead falling back onto the sofa, Gordita once again curling up in his lap. Leaning his head back, and letting a heavy sigh escape his lips, he listened to the two girls conversation.  
"..Sophia?"  
"I'm back! Do you like my nails? I just got them done. Turns out, red sells way faster than-"  
"Alright, that's cool. But where's Alexander?"  
There was a beat of silence between the two.  
"He's at John's."  
"..What?"  
"Yeah. I'm supposed to pick him up in a bit."  
"Holy sh- cheezit.."  
"Anyway, red sells out way faster than black. Isn't that weird? It's kinda weird, because, like, red is seen less than.."

Thomas sat there for a few more moments of silence as Sophia continued her useless rant on red and black nailpolish, attempting to swallow down a fit of rage. He was a grown man, he was not about to get arrested for the murder of a teenage girl in her own home. But shit, he was so close.. He scratched Alexander's kitten under her chin for a few moments, before setting her down, leaving the room. He left for the hallway, stares from both girls already fixating on him. He glared at Sophia for a few moments, enough for her to glance away uncomfortably, before brushing past them, 'accidentally' shoving Sophia into the wall as he walked by her.  
Whoopsies.  
He took a steadying breath, before opening the door, Harleigh's voice stopping him from leaving just yet.

"Where are you going?"  
Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, before turning to look at the shorter girl, narrowing his eyes.  
"I'm going to act like an actual decent human fucking being for once and stop him from getting hurt, obviously. What else would I be doing?"  
Harleigh nodded, before hesitating for a moment, one fidgeting hand holding the other.  
"Can I- Can I come? We can make sure they're both there, and while you help out Alexander, I could put John in a lock of some type. Then we can call the police. He won't be able to leave."

Thomas thought for a moment, his narrowed eyes turning into a glare. However, when Harleigh didn't bother shying away from the expression, Thomas let a heavy sigh escape his lips, before nodding.  
"Yeah, okay. Come on."  
This caused Sophia to whine, her shoulders rolling forward, as if some sort of toddler through a tantrum.  
"That's no fair. What about me? I wanna help."  
Thomas shifted his glare to her, parting his lips to speak, before Harleigh shook her head and spoke before he could, beginning to lead the Virginian out of the house.

"Not a good idea. We'll be back later, okay? You know what Gordita eats, so feed her if she gets hungry. You can also take the vest off, seeing as though she's not going through work right now. Don't bring anybody over, or throw another party, or I swear to gosh I will call the landlord."  
This earned another whine from Sophia, before she let a dejected "Fine.." escape her lips, Harleigh quietly shutting the door behind them. Thomas let a heavy breath escape his lips, glancing down at the girl.  
"How do you do that?"  
"Multiple siblings."  
"Babysitter role?"  
"Mhm."

Thomas only bothered to nod, before leading the girl to his car, him getting into the driver's seat. He started said vehicle, shoving his seatbelt on with pent aggression that he assumed he should probably get rid of at that moment. Staying silent and still for a moment, other than a heavy sigh escaping his lips, as if preparing himself, he glanced over to Harleigh with a raised eyebrow.  
"You ready?"  
"Well, yeah. The question is, are /you/ ready? You're about to see your boyfriend in god knows what conditions."  
Thomas's face heated with the mention of his 'boyfriend', though he didn't bother correcting her - not even sure if he /wanted/ to correct her -, pulling out of the driveway.

"Lets go."


	23. Don't skip past this fuckers

Hey guys!  
So, because my friend Harleigh said it was a good idea, I'm posting this to wattpad as well!  
You should totally go support me over there as well!  
My username is Bopitsneo, and the book shares the same name as it does on this site  
Aaa yay!  
See yall next chapter =)


	24. Jamilton smut that i wrote for my friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I spent all day writing this, so I couldn't update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAA IM SORRY  
> I OFFERED TO WRITE SMUT FOR HARLEIGH AND I TOOK ALL DAY TO DO IT SO NOW I DONT HAVE TIME TO UPDATE  
> UHH HERE  
> READ IT WHILE YOU WAIT FOR ME TO UPDATE  
> I KNOW IM AN IRRISPONSIBLE ASSHOLE AA IM SORRY   
> ER[PHO3[R'OBH  
> its so long omg  
> plus also fluff smut bc jamilton doesnt get enough fluff smut ok

Alexander was an alcoholic.

Okay, wait, that wasn't exactly fair to say. Sure, his former wife and dear friends could hold the same ideals, but Alexander at /least/ attempts to space out visits to the bar - when possible. He had things stopping him from going every single day, anyway. Work, some more work, and even more work got in the way. If you only drink once a week, then that's not really being an alcoholic.. Right?  
Anyway.  
Visits to the bar were usually, if not always, stress reliever. Besides writing, there was almost nothing that calmed his nerves more than drinking. Once again, alcoholism.

Maybe it was the fact he was drinking with his friends. Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan, and hell, sometimes even Burr would join them, watching as the other men made a ruckus in the originally quiet bar. It was the talk they gathered up from the softer frequenters, who always seem to get mixed in with Hamilsquad:tm:'s insanity, turning the entire place into yelling and giggles. Maybe it was the obvious high that drinking would allow, an empty buzz replacing where one's thought process had originally been, allowing an action to simply be followed through with, instead of having to be carefully thought of beforehand. Maybe it was the idea of, hey, your spending too much money on drinks right now, you might as well have a good time.

 

Of course, that all led Alexander to where he was now. Celebrating a weekend off from work - even though Alexander had already missed the office - with overpriced drinks and mixes, their drunken giggles loud enough to be heard from the streets of Nevis where he had grown up. And, they were a sight, as always. Lafayette's arm thrown around Mulligan's shoulder, raising an half-empty beer bottle while he spat some French gibberish and earning a hearty laugh from whom he was next to. Burr, sitting at the table quietly, gingerly sipping his own single beer as he watched his 'friends' potentially fuck up their life. And, of course, Alexander, who seemed perfectly ingrossed with Laurens, arms around the male's neck and pressing a kiss on his neck. That earned a giggle from both males, in which Alexander's turned into a full blow of laughter, stumbling over.

They were messes. 

"Le train!"  
Lafayette's voice, thick with accent, managed to break through Alexander's laughter and shift into his ears, the tone f the Frenchman's words a mix of a gasp and a somehow audible grin. Alexander managed to calm his laughter down after hearing the mans words, bending back up to glance over at him, a confused expression rolling over his face. Except, of course, his original smile, that he couldn't seem to erase.  
"What?"  
Lafayette tore his gaze from something else to glance over at Alexander, shining eyes portraying excitement in its purest form.  
"Thomas le train! He's here! De l'autre côté de la barre!"  
Alexander couldn't help his eyes widening, stumbling over to where Lafayette was to scan the other side of the bar.

Of course, the man was right - as always. There the asshole was, in all his assholish glory. Thomas goddamn Jefferson, perfect smile portraying a soundless laugh at something somebody must have said, perfect posture even when downing a shot. Pefect hair, perfect outfit, perfect fucking face.  
Alexander hated that guy.  
But that was hard to remember when his motor skills were deteriorated by ethonal.  
"I'm going to go talk to him."

Everybody within the group now stared at Alexander, including Burr, who seemed far more invested in the way his beer swirled around in his bottle than the conversation beforehand. There was a brief pause of silence, before Laurens spoke up, hesitant to start at first.  
"Are you sure about that? I mean, you both hate each other. I don't know what going up to him while drunk in the bar would help either of you."  
Burr seemed to hum in aggreement, before taking a sip of his drink, as if to play it off as some sort of vocal accident. Lafayette and Mulligan decided on nodding along with the freckled male, their eyes fixated on Alexander.  
It wasn't at all unlike their first meeting, where Alexander saw himself as needing to prove himself correct. He needed to do the same here.

"I'm not even drunk!" - The slur of Alexander's words had provided proof for a contradicting point, but he continued. "And 's not like I'm gonna start a bar fight. I promised the owner I wouldn't cause another." The group laughed, with even Burr cracking a small smile. This caused a determined smile to rise on Alexander's lips. "Besides, I would hate to end the night without anything to regret in the morning."

Now, he had a mixture of laughter and whistles, Mulligan smacking Alexander on the back and the for-mentioned immigrant stumbling forward slightly because of it. He allowed his own small giggle to leave his lips, nodding at everybody's apparent approval with his hands held up as a surrender, before walking off, leaving for Thomas's seat.

Alexander was right about one thing. Thomas /was/ laughing. Alexander had never heard it before. It was a sort of pure honey sound, one that melts in your ears with ease and helps you drift off into a place better than a dim bar. Alexander swore he could imagine Jefferson under a tree in Virginia, iced tea in one hand and a book in another. That's the sort of scenery that the laugh allowed Alexander to drift off to, and he wanted to hear it again. He wanted to hear it as much as he could. 

As Alexander had slid into the seat next to Thomas's, stumbling slightly to do so and almost falling out of the highest stool, the honey laughter faded away, much to Alexander's dismay. Instead, when he glanced up at the Virginian, he noticed the taller male looking down at him, an eyebrow cocked in amusement and the opening of a beer bottle pressed against his lips. Alexander watched as he took a sip, before sliding the bottle on the smooth wood of the countertop, now leaning backwards. His grin matched the amused look of the rest of his face.  
"Just when I thought I could have a single day without you going to bother me, you take the time to prove me wrong."

Contrary to his words, or past words that might have held a new ease for Alexander to infer, Thomas's tone hardly held a hint of malice in them, more friendly or amused in any way. Still though, that didn't stop Alexander from huffing, a pout now playing on his features. Noticing that his own beer had emptied, he looked over at Thomas's, taking a drink from the taller male's drink instead. This caused the Virginian to laugh once again, that laugh that Alexander had already learned to fall in love with.

"Stealing my drinks, too. My my, Hamilton, first stealing the government's money, and now my beers? I didn't think class could go any lower."  
Alexander shot the male a glare, before huffing, looking back to his group of friends across the bar. They were originally staring at the two, however glancing away as soon as Alexander caught their gaze. This caused Alexander to break out into a fit of laughter, Thomas furrowing his eyebrows and looking over the male's shoulder at the group.  
"I never stole the government's money, jackass. You already know that."

Alexander now finally took the time to respond to whatever the hell the Virginian was saying, ripping his gaze from the group to the beer he stole from Thomas. He took another sip, before sliding it back over to Jefferson, now looking the male in the face.  
"And, sue me for wanting to talk to you. I'm not always here to ruin your life! I just want to-" Alexander was cut off by a hiccup, before continuing- "be your friend and shit! Why can't we-" hic- "just be friends? I don' wanna fight you every day! I wanna-" hic-" like, talk and shit!"  
When Alexander was done with his tyraid, he heaved a deep breath, staring up at Thomas as the aforementioned male held back another small fit of laughter.

"Hamilton, how long have you been drinking?"  
Alexander stayed silent for a few moments, as if registering what Thomas had said, before a small red hue rolled over his face. He puffed his cheeks out, looking the other way.  
"Doesn't matter. I'm not-" hic- "drunk, or anything."  
There was the laughter again. The taller male seemed to be in a relatively decent mood, of which Alexander couldn't help but be fond of. He decided, in that moment, that he held a sort of regard for the Virginian. He could hate him the next morning, he didn't care. But now, he was too busy liking Jefferson to hate him. The other male's voice rang in his ear again.  
"Why did you come over to talk to me, anyway?"

Alexander paused before responding once again, unsure of the answer, before deciding on shrugging, a small hum leaving his lips.  
"Quiero la polla de papi abajo de mi garganta."  
Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, letting Alexander's words sink in for a few moments. He shook his head, before pulling out his phone, opening google translate. He clicked on the Spanish option, pressing the microphone button.  
"Sorry, could you repeat that?"  
Alexander giggled.  
"Quiero la polla de papi abajo de mi garganta."

It took a few moments for it to load, but when Thomas looked down at the screen, his entire face flushed into a deep wine colour, the flush reaching the top of his ears as well.  
'I want daddy's cock down my throat.'  
He started choking.  
"Holy shit, Hamilton-"  
Alexander continued.  
"No me digas que nunca antes me has visto así. Sé que ocupo tu mente por la noche, en sueños o en duchas. Demonios, sé que me miras en las reuniones. Sé lo que estás pensando. Sé perfectamente que me quieres. Y, bromas sobre ti, gilipollas, me gustas. Asi que.."  
Thomas didn't even bother looking down at the translation as all Alexander was saying, too infixed on watching the words escape his lips, watching an originally pinkish hue turn into a deep red on the immigrants face, watching his eyes sparkle with a strange sort of excitement. Then, Thomas found himself unable to study those things with his eyes now fluttering closed, unable to listen to the immigrant's Spanish drabble when he cut the male off with his own lips.

Alexander's eyes widened, flickering back to the original group he was with, only to get matching expressions of surprise. However, when he saw Lafayette egging him on, he shut his eyes as tightly as he could, wrapping his arms around the taller male's neck. He leaned back against the counter, whining in disappointment when the connection was broken, only for the whine to cut to a shallow gasp when the original lips against his own were now working against his neck. Alexander gripped onto Thomas's shirt, nails digging into the cloth, before pushing him away lightly, a small giggle leaving his lips.  
"Home. Take me to your house."

Thomas pulled back, staring at Alexander with furrowed eyebrows for a moment. He stayed silent for the most part, before shaking his head, now settling on cocking an eyebrow.  
"You really wanna do this?"  
Alexander allowed a clear look of disbelief to lay over his face, before he scoffed, giving a rather obvious nod.  
"Uh- fucking yes? Last time I checked, I was the one who, you know, initiated it. What, you think I'm going to make out with you and then leave you with blue balls?"

The immigrant's answer seemed good enough for Thomas, whom nodded and stood up, picking Alexander up with him. Instead of holding him normally, with Alexander's legs around his waist and arms around his neck, he threw the shorter male over his shoulder, earning a whine from him. Alexander attempted to beat down on Thomas's back, which only earned a laugh from the Virginian.  
"Put me down! You don't have to carry me like I'm some sleepy fucking toddler!"  
"You can hardly walk without stumbling all over the place, jackass. I'd rather fuck you without the need of a hospital visit first."

Alexander whined, before he stopped hitting Thomas's back, instead resting his hands on his shoulder and his head on his hand. When they passed the Hamilsquad Alexander was originally with, he couldn't help but grin and nod, which caused a slightly salty scoff from Thomas. However, he kept his remarks to himself, until they got outside, the fall wind already biting at Alexander's bare legs.  
"So I'm assuming this was just a big bet from Lafayette or something?"  
Alexander frowned slightly, turning his head to look at Thomas, who was settled on looking straight ahead.  
"What's a bet?"  
Thomas nodded downwards, as if that would answer Alexander's question.  
"Us. This. Me taking you home."

Alexander couldn't help the scoff that left his lips, before shaking his head, leaning back just enough to look Thomas in the eyes. It hurt his back, but he didn't really care, instead focusing on the male's puppy dog eyes.  
"Nope. I, uh, like you. I think. I dunno. But, uh.. No. I don't wanna fuck you because of a bet."  
Thomas cracked a grin, and a small laugh, that caused Alexander's own smile to lace on his lips. he loved that laugh.  
"Of course you like me. Have you fuckin' seen me? Even lying about hating me is impossible."  
Alexander groaned, before rolling his eyes and letting himself fall forward onto Thomas's shoulder again.  
"Oh, fuck you."  
"Sorry, but I was already planning on fucking /you/."  
Another groan.

"You're shit with all of these jokes."  
"Hey, you can actually talk without hiccuping or slurring all your damn words!"  
"You're sobering me."  
"Is that good?"  
"It's not /fun/."  
"Alexander Hamilton, the workaholic, upset over something not being fun."  
"I'm not a workaholic."  
"Are you calling me a liar then, Hamilton?"  
"I'm not calling you a truther."  
"Don't steal quotes from t.v shows."  
"Whatever. Walk any slower and I'll be uninterested in being fucked by you."  
Thomas walked faster.

\----------- Timeskip, because I doubt anybody is interested in gay jokes or arguing -----------

When the two had finally gotten to the house, Thomas had to kick the door closed, a soft hum escaping his lips as he flipped the light switch on with his elbow. Conflicted on whether or not he should just pin Alexander to the wall then and there, he decided on carrying the shorter male to the master bedroom instead, shutting the door behind them. He set Alexander down on the met, before flicking the lap on, a soft, golden glow growing through the room. Then, he was over Alexander, lightly pushing the other down onto the soft sheets to a laying position, kissing the immigrant.

His lips tasted of a familiar brandy, with a strange hint of chocolate, infused with black coffee. It was an intoxicating taste. Thomas could get lost in the males lips with ease, already feeling himself form an addiction to kissing the immigrant. However, he forced himself to pull away, instead planting soft, and gentle kisses down Alexander's jawline and neck. This caused a small mewl to escape Alexander's lips, before it turned to a giggle, Thomas now breaking away from his neck to look up at him.  
"What's so funny?"

Alexander's giggles got louder for a moment, a hand over his mouth, before he shook his head, giving his best attempt to quiet them down to a humoured sigh. When he did, he pulled his hand away from his mouth, only to display a pink face and a grin far too wide on his face laced on his lips.  
"We're not even fucking, Thomas. We're making love. You know that, right?"  
Thomas sat still for a moment, an embarrassed flush rising on his own face, before he let out a small chuckle and shook his head, hitting Alexander with a nearby pillow.  
"Shut up. Do you wanna continue or not? Because, if so, shut the fuck up."  
Alexander's giggles had come back, before he settled on nodding, leaning back in the bed.  
"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

Thomas stared down at the male for a moment, before shaking his head, as if that would rid himself of his own grin. (look at these cheesy gay fucks smh-) He slipped Alexander's shirt off, tossing it to the side, before once again returning to plant small kisses down the immigrant's collarbone, now shifting down his chest and stomach. It was actually kinda crazy, how much adoration Thomas had when looking at the smaller male, even if it were in a sexual context. He didn't care.  
When he reached the top of Alexander's shorts, he pressed a kiss to his hip, before looking up at Alexander, the action its own silent question. When Alexander looked down to notice that, his eyes swelled up into tears for a reason he couldn't explain. Thomas's eyes widened, and he quickly moved back up, sitting next to Alexander and wrapping his arms around the other male. He shook his head, pressing a kiss to the top of Alexander's head.  
" 'Ts alright. We don't have to do this. You could have just-"  
"N-No, I want to do this. I just- I like you so much, fuck. I don't want to be another one night stand."  
Alexander sniffled, turning to face Thomas. The male smiled softly, before cupping his cheek, pressing a kiss to Alexander's forehead and whispering.   
"You could never, and would never, be just another one night stand to me."

Alexander swallowed down, before nodding, a small smile playing on his lips. He let them sit like that for a few moments, before crawling out of Thomas's arms, lightly pushing him down onto the bed.  
"C'mon, I'm here to fuck, not cuddle."  
Thomas let a small laugh escape his lips, before simply nodding, laying back. Alexander slipped Thomas's shirt off, but wasted no time in moving down the Virginian's body, glancing up when he reached the top of the male's black jeans just like Thomas had done previously. When he received a curt nod, and a gentle hand in his hair, Alexander nodded after him, before pulling Thomas's jeans down, his boxers following afterwards.

He tossed them both to the side, not really caring where they landed, before licking up the Virginian's shaft, pressing a kiss to Thomas's tip. When he heard a small, pleased sigh from the taller male, the grip in his hair tightening, he slowly lowered himself down on the man's member, gagging slightly when Thomas's tip reached the back of his throat. He took a few small moments to get himself accustomed to the taller male's length, but when he did, he slowly began bobbing his head up and down, his eyes watering slightly whenever he reached the bottom of Thomas's member.  
Hey, the dude had a long dick. Sue Alexander.

It didn't take long for Thomas's original steady and levelled breaths to become small pants, the silence in the room instead turning to small whines or soft moans, the hand in his hair gripping at it and pulling at his roots feverishly. Thomas's noises only worked to fuel Alexander more, making him move quicker, hand coming up to fondle Thomas's balls and eyes darting up to actually look Thomas in the face. And, Thomas was sure that the way Alexander looked is what pushed him over the edge. His hair was messy and frizzy, sticking out all over the place. His lips were glossy and pink, cheeks hollowed out and eyes glossy, not terribly unlike a doll's. Thomas let a choked noise escape his lips, before he shut his eyes, his grip on Alexander's hair tightening with his release.

Alexander's eyes widened when he felt his mouth fill with a warm, sticky substance, but he stayed where he was until Thomas's grip had softened, him taking that as a cue to pull away. He swallowed all of the male's release, licking at his now plump lips to get it off. It didn't take long before he found himself at Thomas's member once again, gingerly licking the male clean, a soft hum leaving his lips with the action. It took Thomas a few moments to steady himself, shuddering breaths shaking his frame, before he opened his eyes to look down at Alexander. He sat up, leaning down to take a hold of the shorter male's chin, before forcing him up and in Thomas's lap, connecting their lips.

He could taste himself in Alexander's mouth, but he didn't really care. His free hand travelled down Alexander's side, taking its time as if to memorize the immigrant's body and all of its curves, before stopping at the top of the males shorts. He struggled, before managing to undo the button and zipper of Alexander's shorts, Alexander having to sit up for a moment just to slide them off, along with his boxers. He had to pull away from the kiss when he felt Thomas's hand on his member, hands collecting sheets at his side, bottom lip taken between his top teeth as if to render himself silent. Though, that was Alexander Hamilton, and silence was never an option.

Thomas slid his thumb over the shorter male's tip, slowly sliding it down his base, rather enjoying the way the immigrant was unravelling beneath him. It was quite the sight, one that Thomas doubted he would mind memorizing some time. He kept his touch feathery light and slow, grinning and letting out a small chuckle when Alexander opened his eyes, a hiss leaving the shorter male's lips.  
"Stop fucking teasing, you, ah, asshole."  
Thomas cocked an eyebrow, before pulling his hand away, earning a whine from Alexander.  
"Oh? And why would I do that?"  
The aforementioned male whimpered and glanced away, a deep red flush rising on his cheeks. He wasn't gonna beg, wasn't gonna beg, wasn't gonna beg..  
"P-Please, sir. I need you."  
God, damn it.

Thomas hummed in content with the other's words, especially the way he thrusted up into Thomas's hand as emphasis, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Alexander's forehead.  
"Anything for you, kitten."  
And, when Thomas finally returned his hand to Alexander's member, wrapping it all the way around his length and slowly pumping it, Alexander let a mewl escape his lips, burying his face between Thomas's neck and shoulder.

Same as Thomas's had done for Alexander, Alexander's noises only seemed to motivate Thomas, quickening his movements or putting an emphasis to them. For example, a specific press of Thomas's thumb to a vein on the underside of Alexander's member with a particular whine simply had the man before him seeing stars, and Thomas wouldn't mind at /all/ if he could manage to memorize the sight. Alas, it didn't take terribly long for Alexander to give some half-assed attempt at a warning, lightly biting down on Thomas's shoulder to muffle himself during his release, which brought a broken whine of the Virginian's name from his lips.

The two sat like that for a few moments, Alexander working off his high and Thomas too comfortable to get up, before the Virginian took Alexander off of his lap, setting Alexander down and standing up. He began to walk away, before Alexander's originally closed eyes had opened and widened, hands reaching out for the other's arm slightly delayed from exhaustion.  
"Please, don't go."  
His voice bordered on a panicked whisper, and it broke Thomas's heart more than he would like to admit it. The man sighed and shook his head, leaning down to plant a kiss to Alexander's forehead.  
"I'm not leaving. I'll be right back, I promise."

And, he stuck to his promise. He only left for a few moments, coming back with a washcloth damp with warm water. Thomas cleaned off an already dazed out Hamilton with a careful and gentle hand, humming softly under his breath. When he finished, he put the cloth away, before returning once again. Slipping Thomas's own sweatshirt over Alexander, he tucked the male into bed, before flicking the light off, getting in beside him. Alexander immediately curled up next to him, wrapping his arms around the Virginian and resting his head against Thomas's chest.  
"I like you lots."

Thomas allowed himself a gentle chuckle, before nodding, pulling Alexander closer. He rested his chin on the top of the other male's head, hands coming to rest on his upper back, eyes falling closed.  
"I like you lots, too."  
And, it didn't take them long to fall asleep like that, soft snores already finding their way through the now pitch black room after not even five minutes.


	25. Break Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the great escape didn't really go as planned, but hey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys im also writing oneshots now, so if you're interested in that, just.. go on my profile and scope out my oneshot book, i guess  
> not all of them are going to be as short as the first one! i promise. you can trust me =)  
> TW: faked suicide  
> we're reaching the end **sob**  
> this is kinda filler but its important

Other than the music Harleigh insisted on playing, and her humming along with it, the car ride was relatively silent, and tense at that. Thomas wasn't sure if what was biting at his insides was guilt, concern, worry, or something else that he either couldn't, or didn't want to place. He didn't know what he would see when he would get there. He didn't know what the hell he would walk into. That terrified him.

He had already seen Alexander tied up and naked. He knew how that happened. He saw the house, covered in broken glass and looking like nobody had cared to clean it for months. He'd seen the look on Alexander's face after that one nightmare the man had. He'd seen a lot, and yet, he doubted it was much. There was a lot he /knew/, and some things he had seen. The numbers didn't match up. So, he knew that there was more to see than what had already graced his eyes, and that left him with more possibilities than he was happy with.

He hated this, and everything about it. He hated that it took him some petty hatesex just to notice that Alexander was going through this. He hated that, even when he got the first clue of Alexander being in a bad situation, he ignored it so that he could keep fucking the man. He hated that he had been so ignorant and dismissive. He hated that John was doing this. Who the fuck gave him the right? Who the fuck said it was okay for him to be doing that? He hated that Sophia was helping. Even after telling Harleigh and Thomas that she was taking Alexander to the hospital, she dropped him off at Johns. Who the fuck would do that?

He didn't have quite the handle on Harleigh. He couldn't tell what her deal was. She was a 'wait for it' kind of person, not terribly unlike Burr. She knew this was happening to Alexander; hell, she even cleaned up his wounds. She never bothered to call the cops? Never thought to alert somebody else to this? Was she the one who told Sophia? And yet, she was still here with Thomas, on their way to hopefully save Alexander. She was still sitting beside him, slumped posture but ridged shoulders, fingers busily tapping at a phone screen.

Thomas sighed lightly and glanced away from her, studying the emptiness of a now midnight road stretching out before them. He didn't have his contacts in, stupidly enough, so all the lights from different stores and food chains in the distance were blurred away into the purplish-black sky behind them. The road, itself, seemed pitch black, besides when the soft, golden glow of the streetlights turned the road back to its original grey. It soothed his nerves slightly to focus on these mundane, picture perfect details instead of focusing on the task at hand, and the inevitability of a fucked up situation dawning on his eyes.

It took far sooner than Thomas would have liked to reach the house they were travelling to, Thomas being aware of that when he now parked the car in the empty driveway, slowly reaching to take the keys out of the ignition. Despite them already being there, and /so close/, Thomas kept his seatbelt off, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. He didn't know why he was so anxious. He didn't know why he couldn't just.. Do this. Was he so afraid of seeing his boyfriend-  
"What the fuck.."  
He actually muttered those words under his breath at his train of thought, rubbing the palm of his hands into his eyes.

Okay, let's try again.  
Was he really so afraid of seeing Alexander hurt, in any way shape or form, that he couldn't stand to go inside the man's house and save him? It wasn't like he was afraid for himself. Thomas knew, fully well, he could knock the freckled freak out within a second. He wasn't afraid for Harleigh, either. She seemed good for herself. Besides, Laurens didn't seem like he would hurt anybody other than Alexander. He was a shitty person, and Thomas hated him. He would hate the other forever. Fuck, he was going to /kill/ that asshole as soon as he-  
"Are you ready to go? We've been sitting here for thirty minutes."

Thomas jumped when he heard Harleigh's voice, head snapping to look over at the younger girl. She had a sympathetic smile on her lips, eyes showing a sad expression on their own. She knew something Thomas didn't, and that killed him. He huffed.  
"Yeah. Let's go."  
Despite his words, neither of them made any move to get up, Thomas's gaze instead turning to look back at the front of the house. He decided he hated this house, too.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"What was this for?"

Alexander bit his tongue for a moment, blinking. He didn't have to be specific with this, either. Thomas was already untying him, he didn't have to give any answers.

"Sex."  
"You've got a boyfriend?"  
"Yep."  
"I bet that turns you on, the fact that you still lay with me."

Thomas's last words were a hot breath against the skin of Alexander's neck, sending a shiver down the immigrant's spine. He chewed on his bottom lip, looking away. Don't start, Hamilton, he wouldn't. Besides, you know better than to disagree while at somebody's mercy. Hasn't John taught you anything?

"..Yes."

Jefferson smirked, hands hovering off from the rope. He only loosened it at this point, Alexander's words stopping him from untying him completely. Thomas lightly nibbled on the nape of Alexander's neck, planting a small kiss on the area. It was surprising, how easy he forgot about the mess downstairs.

"Does the idea of me keeping you tied up here, and using you, turn you on as well?"  
"Yes."

Alexander's next words were slightly choked out, him shutting his eyes. He swallowed a lump appearing in his throat, wrists twisting in the rope. It was more comfortable, the hold, but the rope itself was still scratchy and painful.  
When Alexander felt Thomas's hands run down his sides, stopping at his hips, Alexander let a small sob escape his throat, him attempting to swallow down tears that he already knew were popping up. It didn't help, though.

"J-Jefferson, please, d-don't do this."   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"You love him."  
Harleigh's voice, once again, brought Thomas back to reality, him blinking to rid himself of the memory that washed through his mind like a harsh wave on a stormy night. Thomas stared at her for a few moments, face heating slightly, before he rolled his eyes and got out of the car. Harleigh hesitated, before following after him, chewing on the inside of her cheek like she was afraid of saying anything else and fucking everything up. 

Thomas led Harleigh to the front of the house, stopping in front of the door. He didn't bother knocking on the door, instead trying the doorknob. He wasn't surprised when the door opened with little to no hesitation, Thomas easily allowing himself into the house and keeping the door open for Harleigh behind him. Even that simple situation killed Thomas, boiling him to a top with frustration. It was like he left, and didn't bother locking the door, because he didn't care if anybody were to break in and hurt Alexander.  
It was a stretch, but Thomas was starting to notice that he was a bit protective of Alexander.

He glanced around, unsurprised with the broken glass still scattered around the floor, the window still not broken like Alexander had once said it had been. However, a new change was how the house spelt of a sort of lilac, or lavender, like a new load of laundry was done. That was a welcome surprise, Thomas doubted that John would follow through with any human function. The thought brought a scoff from Thomas's lips. He looked to Harleigh.  
"Break apart and look around. I doubt Laurens is here right now."

Harleigh hesitated, before nodding, leaving towards the hallway. Thomas, in turn, made his way upstairs, automatically disappearing into the master's bedroom first. Thankfully, Alexander wasn't there, nor was he tied to the bed like one faithful night would have him. While that caused a sense of anxiety to flood through his senses, it still relieved him. He didn't want Alexander to have to suffer through.. that.. again.

He checked the bathroom. Nothing. The smaller guest bedroom. Nothing. All the closets, storage rooms, and hell, even going downstairs to check under the staircase. No Potter, no Alexander. Thomas groaned, fighting his urge to punch the wall. While they were no longer at college, it seemed like a great fucking idea when the person he just realized he was in love with was missing, and undoubtedly due to his boyfriend. He ran his hands through his hair, jumping slightly when he heard Harleigh's voice. Her words had a shaky sob within them, and it hurt to hear. Especially with the topic at hand, who they were talking about, who she was crying about.

"T-Thomas! In the- the basement!"  
Thomas's eyes widened with just how broken she sounded, just how awfully strained her voice was, and he automatically knew something was up. He heard a sort of hushed, slightly muffled voice as well, but ignored that one, instead all but sliding across the wooden floor and sprinting to the basement, stumbling down the steps. He blinked for a few moments to get accustomed to the darkness, before studying the sight.

First of all, the thing that caught his attention first was a noose in the corner, his heart actually stopping for a moment. It was made out of bedsheets instead of rope, and wasn't yet tight. Then, his sight drifted to Harleigh, who was currently hugging the life out of Alexander, the male letting a small, anxious chuckle escape his lips. When Thomas saw Alexander, he instantly ran for the man, practically ripping him from Harleigh and wrapping his arms around him tightly, burying his face in Alexander's hair. The immigrant stilled for a moment, before wrapping his arms around Thomas, Staying silent. Harleigh's voice cut through the back.

"He- He's faking his suicide! I was so- so scared-"  
Alexander swallowed down and pulled away from Thomas, staring up at his confused expression for a moment. He hesitated, before walking away from the male, picking up an envelope on the floor and sliding it into Thomas's hands. Thomas's name was written on the front.  
"Sophia texted me that- that you were coming, and apparently told John to leave so they could go get 'supplies' together, or whatever. I thought- I thought I would write you /and/ John a letter. Just so you would know how it's going to play out."

Thomas stared at Alexander for a moment, eyebrows furrowing, before he hesitantly nodded, glancing down to the envelope. He opened it with shaking hands, sliding the folded paper out and unfolding it. He read the note.

'Dear Thomas,  
I'm not actually dead. Seriously. Don't call the cops or anything, okay? I learned this in Heathers, it'll be fine. Anyway. Uh, don't tell anybody about this. Just leave. Cool? Cool. Trust me.  
Love Sincerely Your best Signed,  
Alexander Hamilton'

Thomas swallowed down, before slowly nodding, slipping the note in his back pocket. He had questions. He had so many questions, more than he could count, but he knew he wasn't going to bother with them. He hesitated, before taking Alexander's hands in his own, muttering.  
"You swear you're not actually going to die?"  
Alexander cracked a small grin, before nodding, chewing on his bottom lip.  
"Cross my heart and hope to.. Not die."

Thomas managed a small chuckle, running his thumb over Alexander's knuckles. He glanced up at the shorter male.  
"Even if I ask, are you going to give me any details or anythin'?"  
"Nope."  
Thomas grinned. Of course.  
"Okay."

Thomas stared at him for a few more moments, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the immigrant's lips. It was short, sweet, and Thomas let out a shaky breath after it. He nodded towards the noose, a small smile on his lips.  
"You want help with that?"

 

The three now took the next few moments to get Alexander back into his noose, tied just tight enough to look like he was actually choking, just loose enough for him to breath the amount that he needed to. The sight killed Thomas, the idea of Alexander actually hanging there frightening him more than anything else. Alexander offered him a small smile, and Thomas pressed a kiss to his forehead.  
"You good?"  
"I'm good."  
"Should I leave now?"  
"Yeah."  
"I love you."

Thomas's last words caused Alexander to choke for a moment, (haha funny) his eyes welling with tears. Alexander nodded.  
"I love you too."  
Thomas grinned, before clearing his throat, riding a nonchalant expression instead. He pressed another kiss to Alexander's forehead, nodding off to him, before taking Harleigh's hand and leading her out of the basement. Following that, he led her back outside, them both getting into the car with a small hum. Harleigh stared at him.  
"You told him."  
"He killed himself, what do you expect?"

Harleigh grinned, rolling her eyes. Thomas matched her grin with his own small smile, pulling out of the driveway.  
"Do you think his plan will work?"  
"Hopefully."  
"How do you think it'll follow through, anyway?"  
"We'll see."  
"Ready to go home?"  
"Making our way there now."

**Author's Note:**

> Woah-ho-ho, didn't think it would get spicy so soon, huh?  
> gotteem, you thought.  
> I don't know if I'm going to have a specific schedule for posting or not, but I'm aiming for at least one post every week. 
> 
> Feel free to badger me on my tumblr! - https://bopitsneo.tumblr.com/


End file.
